When Loving Democracy Hurts: A Note on Pain, History, and the Long Fight Ahead
I want to take a moment to provide a different kind of perspective about this moment. Not as a constitutional researcher, but as an energy mentor.
I see you. I see the exhaustion in your eyes, the weight in your shoulders, the way you're holding your breath waiting for the next blow. This hurts. This is scary. And if you're feeling overwhelmed right now, you're not broken—you're awake.
Let me start with this: feeling devastated doesn't make you weak. It makes you human. When fundamental rights and democratic norms are under attack, the appropriate response is not calm acceptance. The appropriate response is exactly what you're feeling—alarm, grief, and fierce protective love for the vulnerable.
Why These Assaults on Democracy Are So Challenging to Overcome
Here's what the hot-take media cycle won't tell you: This didn't start with Trump. This systematic assault on democracy didn't begin in 2016, and it won't end when Trump leaves office. The Heritage Foundation has been methodically building toward this moment since the 1980s, when they first worked with Reagan and saw nearly two-thirds of their 2,000 policy recommendations adopted.
Project 2025 isn't their first rodeo—it's the ninth edition of their "Mandate for Leadership" series. They've been systematically planning this takeover for decades, recruiting personnel, building databases, creating training programs, and developing detailed implementation strategies. This is institutional capture that's been 40 years in the making.
Understanding this isn't cause for despair—it's cause for strategic thinking. If it took them 40 years to build this, we know dismantling it will take sustained effort too. But we have to think in terms of sustained organizing, not just individual moments.
Many Moments, One Movement
Yes, they won this moment. They control the presidency, both houses of Congress, and the Supreme Court. That's the reality we're working with. But movements are made of many moments—victories and setbacks, progress and pushback. The movement only ends when we stop moving.
We are not surrendering.
And look—the resistance is responding immediately. Even as the House passed Trump's "One Big Beautiful Bill" this morning, people across the country are mobilizing. Over 140 events are already planned for tomorrow, July 4th, as part of "Free America Weekend" demonstrations, from rallies and marches to block parties that reject authoritarianism on Independence Day itself. This is what democracy looks like when it's threatened—people showing up, voices raised, refusing to be silent.
Where My Strength Comes From in This Moment
I draw strength from the story of my mother—a 5'1" glass ceiling breaker who carved paths where none existed. She taught me to be offended, not victimized. When faced with barriers, her response wasn't to shrink or ask for permission—it was that fierce "Oh HELL, No" that refused to accept limitations others tried to impose. She showed me that righteous anger is a form of self-respect, and that taking offense at injustice is the first step toward changing it.
And I draw strength from my brother, who embodied resilience and quiet dignity in ways so subtle, most missed it. But I saw it. For five decades, Medicaid wasn't just healthcare for him—it was the foundation of his autonomy, his ability to live on his own terms rather than as someone society had written off. He understood what many of us never have to learn: that dignity isn't automatic in this world. It's something you have to fight to maintain when systems are designed to strip it away.
My brother died this year. I carry his memory into this fight because he showed me what it looks like to hold your head high when the world tells you you're disposable. He taught me that grace under pressure isn't weakness—it's revolutionary. When I see politicians casually voting to cut Medicaid, I see them voting to take away what made his independence possible. This isn't abstract policy to me. It's an assault on the basic belief that every human life has inherent worth, regardless of ability or economic status. And it is offensive. So, Oh HELL, No!
I like to say that I am Scottish enough to love a good fight and Buddhist enough to believe in peace. I know I am privileged, and I know that many are vulnerable due to means, ability, or status. My mother broke glass ceilings so I could stand where I am today. My brother showed me that dignity isn't a luxury—it's a birthright. All people and their families deserve safety and dignity. This isn't too much to ask. It's the least we can do for one another.
This transcends politics—it's about the moral foundation of how we treat each other. Whether you draw your values from Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, or simple human decency, the principle remains the same: we are measured by how we care for those who cannot care for themselves.
Your Voice Matters More Than You Know
I know you're tired. I know you're wondering if your voice even matters when they seem to hold all the power. But here's the thing about authoritarianism: it only works when good people become too exhausted to resist, insist, and persist.
They're counting on you to walk away. They're counting on you to decide it's hopeless. They're counting on you to let the wheels stay stuck in the mud.
But I can hear my mother's voice—her firecracker spirit—saying "Oh HELL, No" to that strategy. And I'm betting you have someone in your life, living or departed, whose fierce love refuses to let you give up either.
Fill Your Cup First
Here's your permission slip: take care of yourself. Catch your breath. Turn off the news for a day. Hug your people and furbabies. Eat something that makes you smile. Rest is not retreat—it's preparation.
This movement needs you strong, healthy, and whole. Self-care is a super power—it's strategic.
Then Use Your Voice
When you're ready—and only when you're ready—use your voice. Not because you have to save democracy single-handedly, but because your voice joins the chorus of millions who refuse to let this happen in our name.
Call your representatives. Support organizations doing the work. Vote in every election—especially the local ones where your vote carries the most weight. Show up to town halls. Write letters to editors. Have conversations with neighbors. Make eye contact with others. Run for something. Fund somebody else's run for something. Document offenses.
Most importantly: let them know you see what they're doing, and they are not doing it in your name.
The Long View
This is going to be a long fight. There will be victories and defeats, progress and setbacks, days when hope feels abundant and days when it feels impossible to find. That's how change works—not in straight lines, but like a spiral staircase. It feels like you're back at the same spot, but you're actually climbing.
The Heritage Foundation spent 40 years building this. The civil rights movement took decades. Women's suffrage took 72 years. The fight for marriage equality took generations. Democracy isn't a destination—it's a practice, and it requires practice.
Your mother's fierce spirit, your neighbor's quiet persistence, your own stubborn refusal to let injustice have the last word—this is how truth finds a way. This is how democracy survives.
This is how we fight back.
Not just today. Not just this year. For as long as it takes.
Truth finds a way. And today, tomorrow, and every day after that, it finds its way through people like you who refuse to surrender.
If you're reading this and you're tired, rest. If you're reading this and you're angry, channel it. If you're reading this and you're scared, know that you're not alone. We're in this together, for the long haul.
And we are not surrendering.