How 2016 Ruined my Life: On Family, Politics, and the Difficult Conversations Going into 2020

It was November 9, 2016, when my mom called me.

“I know you’re disappointed that your candidate didn’t win,” I remember her saying, “but I hope you know that, no matter what, we’re still family.” I don’t remember what I said in response, but I’m sure it was surly. I’m not always as good as I should be at not allowing my disgust with my parents’ politics shine through. I’m not proud of that fact, but at least I’ve come to acknowledge it as a fault rather than a virtue.

A few days later, when I confessed to her that, for the first time since the murder of Matthew Shepard in 1998, I felt afraid to be in my own country, I almost found myself crying on the phone. Though I’m well-known for my tendency to cry at the drop of a hat, I am reluctant to cry in front of people, particularly my parents. But, something about finally telling her how I felt about the election just broke something in me.

Whether she was moved by my tears, or whether it finally dawned on her that she should do something proactive to show that she stood with her gay son, my mom offered to wear a rainbow bracelet. It was a big step forward and, had my emotions not been so raw, I probably would have been more accepting and positive about this development in our relationship…