I watched the election coverage. I’d hoped for a joyous night, expecting a nail-biter. But it was clear early on we were going somewhere darker. I didn’t watch for much longer. I tried to sleep, waking up periodically to check my phone. Each update worse than the last, until we got to here, the day after the election.

This morning, to say I felt a swirl of emotions would be an understatement. In therapy, I learned to start by naming what I feel: despair, anger, fear. And then locating it in my body: my heart feels like it might stop at any moment. Tears quick to form and my face quick to fall.

I am genuinely scared. Scared our system of government may not survive this. Scared for the immigrant communities that will be torn asunder. Scared for the women who will die thanks to these policies. Scared for the Trans community that will experience so much more violence.

And I am angry. I am angry at the white women who stayed home and the ones who voted for Trump. Those who care more about their proximity to power than about their daughters’ rights. Certainly, my daughter’s rights didn’t factor into their equation.

I am angry at the Latino men who voted for Trump in record numbers, supporting him in their majority. They proved that we have more Ted Cruzes in our community than I’d like to admit. These men are cowards and opportunists, who see someone insulting their wives and families and try to earn that person’s favor. They are not providers or mavericks. They are short-sighted cowards and they will pay for the decisions they’ve made.

I am not angry at the folks who refused to vote for Harris because of her support of genocide. I am sympathetic and exhausted. The Biden Administration is wrong for funding the human rights abuses of the Israeli government. There is blood on their hands, and it is principled to vote against the murder of children. I’d hoped to persuade them in office to change course but that was always unlikely.

I am also impatient. I would like to be past these emotions and onto the fighting stage. I would like to be ready to be brave. I would like to be ready to get to work on the day after the election. I am not yet. But I know that day will come, soon.

At the Journalism 101 Retreat last weekend, one of the participants asked me how I went from writing for others to writing as myself. How did I know I was ready? I told her the truth. I didn’t know. No one gave me permission.

But when Trump was first elected eight years ago, I looked at myself and knew I wasn’t doing enough. I had a social justice job and voted in all the elections. I’d started a family and committed to raising my daughter (now joined by a son) so that she would see and honor the humanity in each of us.

It wasn’t enough. I was hiding behind the institutions that I served, too scared to raise my own voice. In the eight years that followed, I made big changes. I co-founded this publication. I became a freelance journalist. I gave a TEDx talk. I have a literary agent. I am less scared.

I did those things for me. For my family. But also because I believe that people like me, people of conscience, need to be brave and take more action. In the ways that suit us and our talents best. Activism looks different for all of us and that’s ok. What’s important is to do something, to do more. I literally transformed my life, and I don’t think I was the only one.

I hope this second Trump administration galvanizes us. To stand up. To speak out. To transform their lives. And hopefully, together, we can transform this society.

The U.S. so desperately needs it.