An Ode To The Orphans Of The Trump Vote.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You worked the phones. You knocked on doors. You had the hard discussions and the hopes. And still, people you love so dearly chose to vote for worst of humanity.

And now, you’re cutting them off.

Perhaps that should have happened long ago. Perhaps had there been another way you could have changed their mind, had there been more time, had there been another way instead of today… where your grief for this nation and the empathy you hold towards others means great personal loss for you, right there, where today, you are alone.

Sisters, brothers, parents, colleagues and friends you thought you knew. They made the choice.

It wasn’t you.

Your decision to say goodbye to those who chose violence at that ballot box is a normal, healthy response. You are reacting exactly as you should.

But I know it still hurts.

And you are not alone.

You’re going to be told that you are intolerant. That you aren’t the inclusive you fight for. That you’re the hypocrite and you’re the one tearing apart a relationship because they would never.

Of course.

Abusers rarely sever ties with their victims. Why would they? Toxicity demands the submission and control. It requires your agreement that *most* days it’s good. It needs you believe that it’s not personal.

They won’t say it’s violence. They won’t call it abuse. They will tell you it was just a vote. That politics are not personal.

Even though politics are policies that impact every part of you and others and even them. If politics weren’t personal, they wouldn’t have voted the way they way they did.

You don’t need to tolerate that. You’re allowed to leave the people in your life that voted for harm over hope.

You’re allowed to have the moral high ground.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

That doesn’t change you are the one hurting. While they are just moving on. Like you’re the problem.

You are not the problem.

But you should feel hurt. You’re supposed to. It’s supposed to be grief. It’s supposed to feel like you counted on someone and you believed in something. And you now have to rely on only your backbone as everything in you wants to just weep. Just wants to sleep. Just wants to dream. You’re supposed to think your spine will cave because all you trusted just got wiped away. And maybe if you gave it just one more day this grave of humanity depravity just won’t exist. You’re supposed to feel the loss. You’re supposed to stand alone in wonder wishing and dealing with a head spin of what went wrong.

Because they killed something in you.

Listen to me. They did this.

Not you.

And you are not alone.

There are many of us right here with you. Many people who are cutting ties where we can. Many who decided we will try to be strong and press on and feel alone when all we really want is to hug our brother, sister, friend at least one more time. When all we wish for is some sort of back in time before we knew, before the last interaction we ever had was one of so many we thought we’d have again. When we share so many memories that can’t survive in the future.

It matters. It really does.

Politics is always personal because politics are policies that shape our world and it matters when people vote to bring harm to others for the silver they imagine they can gain. And when those we love do that… it’s horrible and awful and disappointing and depressing and a shock and a complete wish you could break away from.

It hurts. A lot.

They will gaslight you. They will mock you. They will blame you before they will ever take accountability for what they did. They may never come around. They may never regret. Odds are, they would vote this same way again. Like the already did. Like so many have over and over again.

Whatever reason they give for why they voted the way they did doesn’t need to be relevant to the safe space you make. It doesn’t need to be heard or excused away. You do not need that negativity in your life no matter how much you strive to hope that maybe they just didn’t know.

You know.

You matter.

And you are not alone.

There are so many times we simply cannot draw boundaries because normalizing hate has become part of fabric of our society. We cannot quit our jobs or stop shopping at the grocery store. We have to rent and care for our homes. We have to live next door to proud bold awful. We have to earn a living. We have to navigate spaces and places that are built on the tolerance of systems we wouldn’t or couldn’t challenge through generations.

And that is real.

There are many decisions we are stripped of when deciding whether or not we can take some sort of stand at all.

The decision, to sacrifice the blood and water of relationships that we do very much long for is at a whole different level. It’s a line someone we love has drawn that we now choose to cross.

But crossing it hurts. So much.

This deliberate choice to hurt because you know you’ve been already hurt by them.

And it’s okay to cry. And it’s okay to leave. And it’s okay to crawl into the covers as you weep for this loss. You are allowed to grieve.

But you’re not allowed to believe them when they tell you it’s your fault. You are not allowed to listen to the apologetic justification. You are not allowed to be told you are wrong for taking the highest ground.

You feel alone right now.

But you are not.

And every tear you shed now is normal and necessary and the exact correct reaction to the grief they caused. Every drop from your eye, every gut wrenching bawl you feel inside. Every single pain filled expression of loss gets collected. Every time you stand against the tide. Every time you straighten the spine and stride. Every time you crawl into a cover and hide. Every time you make a choice that dies you inside.

That all ends up in the sea of us. An ocean of others sitting or standing at the same tombstones of grief for all the love we believed in that is gone.

Us.

So many of us. Taking comfort in our sleep. Waking to good or bad rest and when to retreat. Those others you don’t even know who are trying to find the words or explanation or why it hurts so bad to not just do a family tradition.

Times like these.

When you know that you are not the enemy. When you know that you know… but the gut punch is deafening.

We see.

You are on the right side of history.

And you are not alone.

Elizabeth Grattan is a broadcast talent and writer who has covered current events, human interest and social justice for over three decades. Her loves are laughter through tears, old ball caps, reasonably priced blended reds and her dream come true little man. Find & friend Elizabeth on FB or follow along on BlueSky or Threads. Subscribe to the Newsletter on BeeHiiv.