Becoming the Light

Over half the nation is celebrating a victory; the other half is mourning, grieving, or rising in fury, struggling against the weight of powerlessness pressing on our hearts. I fall into the latter category. Some might say I’ve been well-trained in facing trauma and disappointment—a skill I honed over the past decade. Though my own days of grief will come, today, I feel the only way to stay afloat amidst this overwhelming sense of oppression is to fight like hell.

I awoke this morning, long before dawn, with a sense of dread—an overwhelming darkness, a directionless apprehension. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, I took a deep breath, steadied my feet, and opened the world. Websites confirmed what I had hoped to avoid seeing. I plead into the silence for a different outcome, but silence is the answer.

There’s a sense of powerlessness here, yet surrendering when the real fight has just begun only deepens the shadows. Outside, snow falls softly, mirroring the loss of hope slipping through my fingers.

I remind myself over and over, between tears and anger, that when it feels as though darkness has eclipsed the light, we must create our own. We must rise to give others hope, choosing grace for those who have been lost.

My whole being says, “run,” but there is nowhere to go but here. I must stand in this purgatory, finding camaraderie and hope in the possibility of a resurgence of faith and goodwill.

I have no easy solutions, only the resolve to resist being consumed by darkness. I will continue to fight against marginalization and oppression through advocacy, amplifying voices, and raising awareness. Even two people walking together in darkness is less terrifying than a solo journey.

We will find our way again.