breast cancer, family, kids, life, Uncategorized


My voice didn’t matter last night.

I’m a woman. I have breast cancer.

I’ve been told I’m a sore loser. I’ve been told the despair I feel is unjustified. I’ve been told to have faith in our system of checks and balances. I’ve been told the way I feel doesn’t matter because Jesus is on the throne. I’ve been told to just have faith.

Earlier in the week, I posted on Facebook that I felt some of my friends and family were voting against my life. Today, I went onto Facebook and found some of my friends and family gloating about what happened last night. Not celebrating. Gloating.

I unfollowed them. I unfollowed former students, former colleagues, family members, lifelong friends. I didn’t unfriend. Not yet. I didn’t block. Not yet.

But, I’m close.

I’ve been told to accept what happened. I’ve been told the threats of the campaign won’t come to fruition.

I’m 38 with breast cancer. My faith in the good of people and the good of Fate is pretty much null and void.

I struck a nerve with people on my Facebook with my post earlier this week. I said, in the post, that you don’t get to say you love me or care about me by casting a vote that could take away my protections built into the ACA. I got messages telling me how stunned and angry they were with me. So, I posted an apology and hid the post from my Timeline.

I wish I hadn’t.

I’ve been told I’m becoming mean and bitter. “I don’t like this side of you.”


I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken. I’m disheartened. I’m betrayed. I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m a woman. I stand to lose a lot if this president, cabinet, and Congress do what they promised during the election. And, I’ve always struggled with forgive and forget. With this, I don’t think I can forgive and forget. Move on. So, that does make me mean and bitter. I know that.

I also know, when you’ve been told, over and over, by people who “care” about you, that “you’re not a nice person” or “you’re just like so-and-so” there’s probably some truth to it. Maybe this side of me, the side that cancer and the campaign, brought out, it is not who I am at my core, but it is a part of me. I can accept it. Can you?

At my core, I am a scared, vulnerable, heart-on-my-sleeve, people pleaser. That part of me gets overlooked by the aloof mask I wear…a mask I wear to protect the core of me. Can you recognize that part of me, too? Probably not. Most overlook it.

Overlook me.

I hoped for a future where my health insurance would not be at risk, where my daughter didn’t have to be as concerned about her place in the world simply because she was born a female, where my son didn’t need to be told the things said by the man my country elected are wrong, where my friends who gained freedoms over the last several years would not fear losing those freedoms, where the fight for equal rights was no longer a fight but a given.

I’m hurt. I’m heartbroken. I’m disheartened. I’m betrayed. I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive those who say they love and care about me when they’ve given me this person to make decisions that affect my health, my career, my life.

I have to live with your choice.

I just hope I get the chance to live with your choice.



2 thoughts on “Voiceless”

  1. My sister- these are times of fear and peril. We are all both light and dark- I believe that it is the work of being human to be kind, to be ethical and to cultivate service to others rather than taking the unfair advantage. This election feels like a dreadful dream- in which the forces of dark have gained a foothold. I too am searching for ways to keep hope. We must continue to speak the truth as we hold it- thank you for speaking yours.


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