3am On November 6th
You probably remember where you were on Election Day, 2024.
I was at work that evening. My parents were in California for my sister’s swim meet. I tried to keep my head down, tried not to panic, but it was impossible. With every state called, the map got redder and redder.
I told myself it wasn’t final yet — the votes weren’t fully counted, there was still time. But deep down, I knew. America wasn’t ready to put a woman in charge. Instead, we chose a felon.
Everything we had done — every conversation, every donation, every ounce of hope poured into the possibility of our first female president — wasn’t enough.
Before I finally fell asleep, I called my best friend. We promised each other we’d get through this together.
At 3 a.m. on November 6th, I woke up with dread sitting heavy in my chest. And I knew. It was over.
What struck me most later was learning how many other women woke up that same morning, at that same time, with the same sinking feeling in their stomachs. As if we all shared some unspoken warning: the fight wasn’t ending here.
That dread wasn’t just grief. It was a signal. A reminder that for the next four years, we’d have to fight harder than ever — for our freedoms, for the people we love, for each other.
But here’s the thing: fighting doesn’t mean burning ourselves out. We can’t protect others if we’re running on empty. Activism, advocacy, and showing up for those in need all require energy — and energy requires rest.
Taking care of our mental health isn’t selfish; it’s survival. It’s what allows us to keep showing up, to keep fighting, to keep believing in something better. In moments when the world feels heavy, we have to give ourselves permission to step back, breathe, and refill our cups — so when the time comes, we can pour into others again.
Because yes, the next four years will demand strength. But that strength can only last if we also give ourselves grace.
