Another unhinged, mentally ill White woman:
Wed, November 12, 2025 at 7:31 PM PST
8 min read
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The author (left) with her "I Voted" sticker on Nov. 5, 2024.
I knew he voted red. He knew I voted blue. I had hoped the most capable and most inclusive candidate would win. He hoped his idea of a better America would win. He won, and, from where I stand, America lost.
In the aftermath of Tuesday night’s results, still under the bed covers Wednesday morning, I scrolled social media looking for hope. I unfriended a few short-sighted FB friends — no need to continue our digital relationships and witness their selfishness and hate. Then I saw my husband’s post.
“God Bless America. God bless #45, 47.”
It had a few likes, and a few commenters joined him in his celebration. He was downstairs in the kitchen making coffee, and I was upstairs avoiding him. I couldn’t talk to him — or even look at him.
I immediately texted, “I love you, but out of respect for me and all my liberal writer friends, can you please take down that post? Also, tell your family I love them, but I will not be coming for Thanksgiving, and I won’t be hosting Christmas. I need space.”
Shortly after I sent the text, he brought me a cup of coffee in bed.
“I am sorry,” he said, “I understand.”
Did he? Did he really understand what he and so many others in this country had done? I could not forgive him. Not right now.
I spent most of the morning doom-scrolling next to the cold cup of coffee I ignored partially because I was distracted, primarily out of spite. I finally got up, made the bed, went outside into the beautiful sunny day, took a few deep breaths, and then went back upstairs to unmake the bed and spend the remainder of the day in it.
The Washington Post / The Washington Post via Getty Images
Related: My Marriage Was Crumbling. Then A Stranger's Stunning Confession At A Mattress Store Changed Everything.
He went to work — I assumed energized by Trump’s victory.
The next day, I finally emerged and listened to Kamala’s concession speech. She reminded us, “Only when it’s dark enough can you see the stars.”
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I wrote to my artist friends and told them to keep shining their lights. I wrote to my musician son in college and his songwriter girlfriend. I told them to keep creating. I wrote to my young nieces, who were terrified, and told them I was there for them. I wrote to my beautiful gay cousin and said I loved him and was thinking of him and his partner.
I kept writing.
I received a message from a family member who told me her Ukrainian friend was petrified. Another message came in from an actor friend who said she was afraid that the damage that will be done in the next four years could never be undone. One of my sisters wrote and said she had a panic attack and had to leave work. One of my students rescheduled our afternoon appointment saying she just couldn’t function.
Later that night, I briefly glanced at my husband and found myself not wanting to look into the eyes I love. I hated this divide. I wanted to touch his forearms and feel our connection, but I also felt an urge to punish him and deny him my touch.
“I am sorry about the holidays, but I cannot bite my tongue like I did with Hillary,” I told him. “I don’t want to disrespect your parents or your brother and his family in their home, or our home, so it’s best this way. No scenes. You can go see them. Seriously — I will not be in a room of 15 people who voted for Trump.”
He mentioned our son and his girlfriend, who are coming home for Christmas.
“Will they feel bad?” he asked.
Bad? I think they already feel bad. Really bad, I thought. Instead, I said, “We will have our own small holiday, and it will be fine.”
Will it be fine? I have wondered that since 2016, when I saw my husband’s stubbornness. How could a Latino vote for Trump? How can any of his family members vote for him? Haven’t they believed any of Trump’s comments about immigration? Aren’t they worried about the reproductive safety of the young women and girls in our family? Aren’t they worried about all of the other nightmares that could be headed our way?
I was surprised he didn’t argue about the change in holiday plans. Normally, it would be a bone of contention because of how close he is to his family. Somewhere inside, he must understand what this election outcome means to me. I know he has empathy for me, for which I am thankful. I will hold onto this like a life raft as I try to figure out how we move forward with our marriage.
But I will not give thanks and hold hands in a circle with people who voted for a party that wants to take rights away from LGBTQ people. I will not pass the turkey to someone who supports people who have signaled they will cause harm to people with disabilities and the elderly. I will not sit by a Christmas tree celebrating the birth of Jesus and sipping eggnog when I know how many people may now find themselves in grave — even deadly — danger because they cannot get the reproductive care they need. I will not unwrap gifts given to me by people who voted for a party that has talked about building internment camps and mass deportation.
Related: 17 Cancer Patients Are Sharing The Concerning Symptoms That Made Them Go To The Doctor ASAP
Bill Pugliano / Getty Images
I will keep encouraging my friends and family to continue to hope and fight for this country. I don’t know how or when I can greet my husband in the morning with my usual hug when I wrap my arms around his strong shoulders, smell the intoxicating scent of his spicy cologne and smile, knowing we are one. We are now two, and it is agonizing. Still, I know he is a good man and he would do anything for a family member or friend, which makes what he has done even more infuriating and even more painful.
My Husband And His Family Voted For Trump — So I'm Canceling Thanksgiving And Christmas
Andrea TateWed, November 12, 2025 at 7:31 PM PST
8 min read
Add Yahoo on Google
Scroll back up to restore default view.
The author (left) with her "I Voted" sticker on Nov. 5, 2024.
I knew he voted red. He knew I voted blue. I had hoped the most capable and most inclusive candidate would win. He hoped his idea of a better America would win. He won, and, from where I stand, America lost.
In the aftermath of Tuesday night’s results, still under the bed covers Wednesday morning, I scrolled social media looking for hope. I unfriended a few short-sighted FB friends — no need to continue our digital relationships and witness their selfishness and hate. Then I saw my husband’s post.
“God Bless America. God bless #45, 47.”
It had a few likes, and a few commenters joined him in his celebration. He was downstairs in the kitchen making coffee, and I was upstairs avoiding him. I couldn’t talk to him — or even look at him.
I immediately texted, “I love you, but out of respect for me and all my liberal writer friends, can you please take down that post? Also, tell your family I love them, but I will not be coming for Thanksgiving, and I won’t be hosting Christmas. I need space.”
Shortly after I sent the text, he brought me a cup of coffee in bed.
“I am sorry,” he said, “I understand.”
Did he? Did he really understand what he and so many others in this country had done? I could not forgive him. Not right now.
I spent most of the morning doom-scrolling next to the cold cup of coffee I ignored partially because I was distracted, primarily out of spite. I finally got up, made the bed, went outside into the beautiful sunny day, took a few deep breaths, and then went back upstairs to unmake the bed and spend the remainder of the day in it.
The Washington Post / The Washington Post via Getty Images
Related: My Marriage Was Crumbling. Then A Stranger's Stunning Confession At A Mattress Store Changed Everything.
He went to work — I assumed energized by Trump’s victory.
The next day, I finally emerged and listened to Kamala’s concession speech. She reminded us, “Only when it’s dark enough can you see the stars.”
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I wrote to my artist friends and told them to keep shining their lights. I wrote to my musician son in college and his songwriter girlfriend. I told them to keep creating. I wrote to my young nieces, who were terrified, and told them I was there for them. I wrote to my beautiful gay cousin and said I loved him and was thinking of him and his partner.
I kept writing.
I received a message from a family member who told me her Ukrainian friend was petrified. Another message came in from an actor friend who said she was afraid that the damage that will be done in the next four years could never be undone. One of my sisters wrote and said she had a panic attack and had to leave work. One of my students rescheduled our afternoon appointment saying she just couldn’t function.
Later that night, I briefly glanced at my husband and found myself not wanting to look into the eyes I love. I hated this divide. I wanted to touch his forearms and feel our connection, but I also felt an urge to punish him and deny him my touch.
“I am sorry about the holidays, but I cannot bite my tongue like I did with Hillary,” I told him. “I don’t want to disrespect your parents or your brother and his family in their home, or our home, so it’s best this way. No scenes. You can go see them. Seriously — I will not be in a room of 15 people who voted for Trump.”
He mentioned our son and his girlfriend, who are coming home for Christmas.
“Will they feel bad?” he asked.
Bad? I think they already feel bad. Really bad, I thought. Instead, I said, “We will have our own small holiday, and it will be fine.”
Will it be fine? I have wondered that since 2016, when I saw my husband’s stubbornness. How could a Latino vote for Trump? How can any of his family members vote for him? Haven’t they believed any of Trump’s comments about immigration? Aren’t they worried about the reproductive safety of the young women and girls in our family? Aren’t they worried about all of the other nightmares that could be headed our way?
I was surprised he didn’t argue about the change in holiday plans. Normally, it would be a bone of contention because of how close he is to his family. Somewhere inside, he must understand what this election outcome means to me. I know he has empathy for me, for which I am thankful. I will hold onto this like a life raft as I try to figure out how we move forward with our marriage.
But I will not give thanks and hold hands in a circle with people who voted for a party that wants to take rights away from LGBTQ people. I will not pass the turkey to someone who supports people who have signaled they will cause harm to people with disabilities and the elderly. I will not sit by a Christmas tree celebrating the birth of Jesus and sipping eggnog when I know how many people may now find themselves in grave — even deadly — danger because they cannot get the reproductive care they need. I will not unwrap gifts given to me by people who voted for a party that has talked about building internment camps and mass deportation.
Related: 17 Cancer Patients Are Sharing The Concerning Symptoms That Made Them Go To The Doctor ASAP
Bill Pugliano / Getty Images
I will keep encouraging my friends and family to continue to hope and fight for this country. I don’t know how or when I can greet my husband in the morning with my usual hug when I wrap my arms around his strong shoulders, smell the intoxicating scent of his spicy cologne and smile, knowing we are one. We are now two, and it is agonizing. Still, I know he is a good man and he would do anything for a family member or friend, which makes what he has done even more infuriating and even more painful.
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