Surprise was not among the emotions I felt last night as I watched the electoral map turn increasingly red. I expected Donald Trump to win this election, as I did in 2016, because I don’t think America is ready to elect a woman to the presidency, much less a woman of color who had just months to launch her campaign. In fact, one of the many texts I woke up to this morning was from a former student who said, “During one of my last dissertation meetings in 2019, you said that he would be elected again. 5 years later, your prediction came true.” I take no solace in the confirmation of my cynicism.
Instead, I find myself in an overwhelmed state of grief. I look at the map and realize that I live in a country I no longer recognize, where character appears meaningless in who we elect and endow with power. My pain is amplified when I think of my 4-year-old daughter, who is half Indian and half Mexican, and who will soon attend school and pledge allegiance to the flag of a country whose president and vice president rose to power based on hateful rhetoric toward a biracial woman who looks like her.
I am also afraid of what Trump will be permitted to do with control of the Senate and a conservative Supreme Court. He promised mass deportations, and in his victory speech last night, he confirmed his intent to deliver on his promises. If this sounds dramatic, remember that it was only 82 years ago that thousands of Japanese American citizens were forced into concentration camps by their government.
I will tell her about women of color before her, like Kamala Harris, who have survived and thrived in adversity by persisting and speaking up.
Last night I re-read some of Victor Frankl’s work, an Austrian psychologist and Holocaust survivor who, in his book “Man’s Search for Meaning,” chronicles his story of psychological survival and growth during and after imprisonment in a Nazi concentration camp. One quote has stayed with me: “Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation.”
Today, I choose to feel my grief and fear. As a psychologist, I know that facing difficult feelings helps us clarify what we’ve lost and what we care most about. My “today” may last a few days or longer, but the mother in me knows that there will be a “tomorrow” when it will be time to pick up the pieces and move forward, both for my sake and for my daughter’s sake.
My daughter will need me and her community to support, strengthen, and guide her as she develops beliefs about herself and her world, beliefs that will shape her identity and her future. Decades of research in psychology tell us that one key element of resilience is the willingness to face reality head-on, and so, for my daughter’s sake, I will keep both eyes open and acknowledge forces of hate and evil in the world instead of pretending they don’t exist. I will teach her about my values of justice, truth, and empathy, and encourage her to craft her own compass of values that will guide her as she faces challenges. I will tell her about women of color before her, like Kamala Harris, who have survived and thrived in adversity by persisting and speaking up.
The former student I mentioned earlier also graciously reminded me of something else I told him and texted, “One of the most memorable lessons I remember you teaching me was connecting with others during despair.” May we connect in our grief and use it to face our “tomorrow” with courage and purpose.
Natasha Thapar-Olmos, PhD, is a licensed psychologist and a tenured professor at Pepperdine University. Her expertise includes Asian American mental health, cognitive behavior therapy, and academic writing. She has been featured in The New York Times and L.A. Parent and has also published work in peer-reviewed journals.
