A few weeks ago, in a “Women Rowing North” guided autobiography group I belong to, we received prompts about writing our darkest stories. Some of the prompts focused on family dysfunctions, others on mistakes we may have made in our past. I chose to write about one of my failures.

I found these recollections too hard to read on the day we met to share our stories, so the facilitator, Helen, read mine for me. It’s taken several tries to record it for you here. Despite how difficult it is, I’ve decided to post it to let others out there who had a similar experience know that they are not alone (my therapist tells me I’m not the only one).

Disclaimer: I don’t want to offend anyone. I’m not making a critique of anyone’s politics (so please try not to take it that way—I love lots of folks with whom I don’t share opinions). This is a story about my brain and how it melded past trauma with events in 2016.

*Sunset, Hocking Hills State Park, Ohio*

On October 7, 2016, Hubby and I were vacationing at Hocking Hills State Park in Ohio. It’s a beautiful area of rolling hills, waterfalls, and scenic trails. We hiked and dined and relaxed. Our room at the lodge had no TV. We enjoyed the respite from the political clamor.

While out to lunch that afternoon, we heard a recording in which a presidential candidate made lewd remarks. Wow, I thought, the election’s over.

I felt certain the candidate could not win given the content of that tape. No one would vote for the person now.

Driving back to camp after lunch the next day, I saw a woman wearing an angry expression pound a sign for the candidate into her front lawn. An icy chill moved through me.

After a long afternoon of hiking, Hubby fell asleep early. My nephew called. We chatted about the news.

Then he told me that my brother had told him that he was still going to vote for the candidate.

That information started a dark spiral.

After the call, I took a bath. I wept. I sobbed. Deep waves of pain and grief rolled over me.

I felt that my sister, Edie, dead from an overdose in the spring, was the lucky one, lucky not to be here to experience this betrayal.

I wailed to her—he’s abandoning us again.

The early years of my life were happy years. I adored my brother, sixteen years my senior. He made Edie me snowmen, bought us ice cream, and danced with us as the stereo blasted out hits of the fifties and sixties.

My brother slept in the front bedroom. Mother, Edie, and I in the middle bedroom. My dad was a long-distance truck driver, away for weeks at a time. He slept in the back bedroom.

When I was eight, my brother got married and moved out. Now Mother and dad took the front bedroom. Edie got the middle one. I was in the back.

I don’t know exactly how long I slept in there before dad started making visits to my bedroom late in the night. I didn’t understand what was happening.

He stopped after a few years. I didn’t know if it was because of how I responded, because Mother intervened, or…

As I reached adulthood, I began to wonder if my memories were real. Well, worse than wondered. A voice in my head said, “What kind of person are you, to think your dad did something like that.”

A few months after Mother died, Edie revealed what dad had done to her, abuse that never stopped.

When 2016 came, Mother was long dead, dad gone 14 years, Edie a few months.

I had decades of therapy behind me. I knew how meditate. I was taking multiple antidepressants.

I rebounded somewhat after October 8th. Until the day after the election. While the long count went on, I knew how it would turn out. I could feel it in my bones.

Agoraphobia descended upon me that day. The eight-year-old trauma victim in my brain took over again. The country had licensed sexual assault and sexual abuse she told me. No place is safe.

Hubby picked up the antianxiety drugs my therapist and doctor decided was best. They made me stop crying, but for two weeks I couldn’t walk out my door. I couldn’t breathe over that threshold.

My boss and workmates were kind and supportive. I worked remotely before working remotely was what everyone did.

After two weeks, with Hubby accompanying me, I could go to see my therapist and my grandbaby. After two more weeks, I could get to those two places alone. I was okay as long as I didn’t see anyone with a bumper sticker for the elected party. If I did, a panic attack would send me to the side of the road.

After two months, I managed to go back to the office. The panic attacks got farther apart. They resurged after January 20th though the agoraphobia did not return.

On top of the trauma, was the shame and anger I felt. I SHOULD BE ABLE TO OVERCOME THIS!! My rational mind knew the risk of harm had only marginally increased. I was furious with my country and more furious with myself.

I hated that my intelligence could not make my emotions see reason! Instead of comforting the eight-year-old within me, I kept smacking her around, telling her to stop being so childish, so foolish.

I can finally give her a hug. Now I can dry her tears, tell her that, yep, it sucks to feel that way.

I hope I remember how to do this for the rest of my days.

There’s self-indulgence, and there’s compassion for oneself. They are not the same.

2016

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