Womanist Musings ... I Am Not Okay: Navigating Grief and Resilience After The US Election
There’s no way to sugarcoat how I feel in the wake of the 2024 election results. Kamala Harris, a candidate who represented not only groundbreaking representation but also hope for a democracy inclusive of all, lost to Donald Trump. Her defeat has left me—and so many others—reeling with grief, anger, and despair. Beyond the personal pain of seeing such potential crushed, there is an acute awareness of the existential threat Trump’s second term poses to the ideals of justice, equality, and safety, especially for marginalized communities.
The feeling of helplessness is compounded by the weight of history. As Black Americans, we are no strangers to devastating political losses. From the dismantling of Reconstruction to the landmark Plessy v. Ferguson decision that cemented segregation, our collective history is riddled with moments where progress seemed possible, only to be ripped away. These events remind us of both our capacity for resilience and the toll such losses take on our mental, emotional, and physical health.
Still, I struggle to hold onto hope. The difference between then and now is the creeping realization that democracy itself hangs by a thread. The autocratic potential of a second Trump term threatens not only marginalized groups but the very mechanisms that have allowed resistance and advocacy to thrive in the past.
Historical Losses and the Weight of Resilience
To understand the grief many feel today, we must remember the legacies of past betrayals. After the Civil War, Reconstruction offered a glimpse of what America could become: a nation where Black Americans could vote, hold office, and build thriving communities. But the Compromise of 1877, which ended Reconstruction, left Black Americans at the mercy of state-sanctioned violence and disenfranchisement for nearly a century.
The Supreme Court's decision in Plessy v. Ferguson in 1896 only deepened the wounds. By upholding "separate but equal," the court not only legitimized segregation but also solidified the legal foundation for decades of systemic oppression. These moments taught us that progress is often fragile, and the backlash to Black advancement can be swift and brutal.
Even in more recent history, the 1984 electoral map, in which Ronald Reagan won every state but Minnesota, delivered a harsh blow to those who believed in progressive policies. While not as explicitly rooted in racial injustice as earlier examples, Reagan’s landslide win signaled a national embrace of policies that gutted social safety nets and disproportionately harmed Black communities.
These historic losses are eerily echoed today, but with one critical difference: the threat of autocracy. Trump’s rhetoric and policies suggest an active dismantling of the democratic systems that have historically allowed Black Americans to resist and rebuild.
Why This Feels Different
The 2024 election is not just a political defeat—it feels like an existential crisis. The return of Trump signals a dangerous erosion of democratic norms. His administration has already shown a willingness to use the military for personal gain, dismantle institutions like the Department of Education, and target marginalized groups through aggressive and harmful policies.
This is more than just politics as usual; it’s a direct assault on the principles of democracy. The very mechanisms we’ve used to fight for justice—voting, organizing, and public advocacy—are at risk of being undermined or eliminated entirely.
Grieving Together
The grief is palpable and multifaceted. There’s the immediate pain of seeing Harris lose, compounded by the knowledge of what her victory would have symbolized for Black women, for democracy, and for the nation. There’s also the anxiety about what lies ahead: deportations, escalated threats to LGBTQ+ communities, environmental deregulation, and a rollback of protections for marginalized groups.
I’ve heard from so many who feel paralyzed. One friend described waking up the morning after the election feeling like the world had become unrecognizable. Another confided that they can’t stop crying, not just for themselves but for their children, who will inherit a world where decades of civil rights have been erased.
Strategies for Survival
As we grapple with these emotions, it’s important to acknowledge our pain without letting it consume us. Black Americans have always found ways to balance grief with action, and this moment is no different. Here are a few strategies for navigating this difficult time:
Rest Without Guilt: Rest is a revolutionary act. In a society that demands constant productivity, taking time to recharge is an act of resistance. Whether it’s through physical rest, creative expression, or spiritual renewal, prioritize what restores you.
Build Community: Isolation feeds despair. Lean on trusted friends, family, and community groups for support. Collective grieving and processing can be a source of strength.
Limit Doomscrolling: While staying informed is important, there’s a fine line between awareness and overwhelm. Set boundaries for your media consumption to protect your mental health.
Engage in Advocacy Wisely: Not every fight needs to be fought immediately. Choose where to direct your energy in ways that align with your values and capacity. It’s okay to say no to certain battles to preserve your strength for the long haul.
Seek Professional Help: If feelings of despair persist for weeks or interfere with daily life, reach out to a mental health professional. Therapy is not a sign of weakness; it’s a tool for resilience.
A Call to Action
History has shown us that the darkest moments often give rise to the most significant movements for change. The end of Reconstruction birthed the civil rights movement decades later. Plessy v. Ferguson eventually led to Brown v. Board of Education. Reagan’s policies galvanized a new generation of activists.
We’ve been here before. We’ve faced devastating losses and unimaginable challenges. And while this moment feels uniquely terrifying, it’s also a reminder of our capacity to endure and to push for something better.
This moment is no different. While the grief is real, so is the potential for transformation. To those who feel like giving up: I see you. I feel your pain. And I urge you to rest, recover, and then rise. The fight for democracy isn’t over, and our voices—no matter how weary—still matter.
Take a breath. Take your time. And when you’re ready, let’s continue the work of building a nation that reflects the values we hold dear.
Dr. CL Nash, the Misogynoir to Mishpat (M2M) Research Network © 2024