Get Back Up Again

Dear Laila Rae,

I want you to know that I am in awe of you. You inspire and encourage me everyday. You are one of my role models and I strive to live in the world and love the world as much as you do. Every year your birthday theme is one of your favorite shows/movies at the moment. This year the theme is “Trolls.” To me, you are Princess Poppy in so many ways. For one, you are joy, happiness, laughter, sunshine, and rainbows all wrapped up in one Laila package. There is nothing I love more than to snuggle under two blankets (it’s always two) with you on the couch. You giggle freely, but chose your words with care. You love to sing the song from Trolls, “Get Back Up Again,” and I feel like that is your theme song.

Laila, you approach the world with so much optimism and hope. You are fiercely stubborn, determined, and curious. You want to see and experience the world and nothing will hold you back. While these traits are the most exhausting for adults, they have always been my favorite traits about you. You never give up, even if you spend an hour trying to figure out how to climb to the top of your jungle gym. If you do get knocked down, like when you had to sit in time out because your mom would not let you put wet toys on Noni’s bed, and you were determined that is what you wanted to do, you bounced back. You bounced back singing, “I'm really, really, really gonna be okay!”

You inherited the stubborn Palmer gene, and I hope that you are always stubborn when it comes to the things that matter most to you. I hope that you continue to learn when to compromise, as long as you don’t sacrifice your values. Even though you are still non-verbal, you are the best communicator I know. You are incredibly self-confident and march around with purpose and intention. I hope that you always want to jump in puddles and make snow angels. You laugh at yourself freely and spin in circles in order to appreciate all that is around your. You love the world and your people with your entire self. It takes you awhile to warm up to people, but once you do, you love unconditionally. Most importantly, you love yourself.

So this year, my prayer for you is that you never change. I hope that you grow. I hope that you question the world. I hope you experience discomfort and challenges, and you allow those experiences to shape you. But I pray you are always stubborn, determined, and curious. I pray that you always love people and the world with the vigor you have now, even when it tries to knock you down. Even when it wants you to doubt your abilities. Questioning ourselves is important, allowing ourselves the grace to be wrong and mistakes is how we grow, but I never want you to doubt yourself. I pray you always love yourself and when you feel doubt, you sing your theme song. I pray that you learn your ability to love fully is your greatest gift. Sometimes it is hard for your family not to worry about you. The world is not always an understanding place. But I believe you are really, really, really gonna be okay.

Love,

Aunt Whitney Rae

Love and Vulnerability

Dear Laila Rae,

I love you. I have decided to start all my letters to you with a simple, “I love you.” Last year I explained how you are the first person I have ever loved with my entire heart. You are still the only person I love with my entire heart. You are my favorite little human.

Today is your fourth birthday. I tried writing this letter several times over the past few weeks and felt a bit overwhelmed and unsure of what I want to say to you today. This past year was full of changes for you and I am so proud of you and all you have accomplished. For me, this past year has been tough. I could give you a very long list of all the things that made the year tough, but thing that was personally hardest was learning to open myself up to vulnerability.

The word vulnerability fills me with dread. The type of dread that sits in the bottom of your stomach and is nauseating. A few years ago I listened to a podcast on vulnerability. I loved it and I hated it. I loved it because I wanted to be a person that embraced vulnerability and grew within that space. I hated because I was not sure I could ever be that person. I have always believed we grow in uncomfortable spaces and have never been afraid of discomfort. My best growing and learning experiences were in uncomfortable spaces but, I never really allowed myself to be truly vulnerable.

I find it easier to keep people at a distance with only a few, close friends. Even with those close friends I put up barriers. I’ve heard people attribute a fear of vulnerability to shame, or fear of not being good enough, or worthy enough. That explanation does not feel true to my experiences. I have a healthy dose of self-confidence and am proud of the person I am, and constantly strive to become. I think my reluctance resides in the fear that people won’t recognize or appreciate what I love about myself. I am hesitant to allow people to see my imperfect and broken parts. If they don’t ever see me, they can’t disappoint me. I have trouble doing things where there are no guarantees, or the potential for extreme disappointment.

This past year I decided I was going to try and open myself up to vulnerability. I believe that vulnerability allows us to form deeper connections. It creates a space where we can begin to love with our whole hearts. I tried to stop worrying about if people would be able to see my attributes in the midst of my flaws. I wanted to be kinder to myself so I could be kinder to others. I wanted to be less quick to judge. I wanted to be quicker to forgive and create space for second chances.  I wanted to form new relationships and stronger connections. My year was not a beautiful adventure in self-discovery and meaningful relationships. I experienced a lot of disappointment and hated every second of it. Opening myself up to vulnerability made me feel weak, and then I felt disappointed in myself. I was kinder to others but not kinder to myself. Laila, I want you to be kind and patient with people, but being kind and patient does not mean you can’t vocalize when something is wrong. Being quicker to forgive and creating spaces for second chances does not mean you don’t stand up for yourself. I want you to have a forgiving soul, but sometimes you can forgive someone and still need to cut them out of your life. Your experiences learning to navigate this will be much different than mine. But even when you feel weak, or disappointed, please be kind and patient with yourself. Allow space for imperfections and vulnerability.

While I still hate vulnerability, there were several moments when, because of my vulnerability, I strengthened relationships. I allowed people to see my imperfections and broken parts and they loved me in my brokenness. And I have been able to love them with a bigger heart. I discovered new strengths and weaknesses about myself. I am learning how to love myself more. Vulnerability not kill me, nor did it break me. I still have trouble loving others with my whole heart, but my overall capacity to love myself and others is greater. I don’t want you to be scared of vulnerability like I am. I don’t want you to ever feel like you are not enough. I don’t want you to worry about what others may or may not see in you.  You will be imperfect. I probably won’t tell you that often because you are my favorite little human, but we are all imperfect. You will face many struggles and they will be your own. People will often hurt and disappoint you.  But I want you to remember you are worthy of love and belonging. I will always love you with my whole heart, especially in your imperfections and brokenness. I want you to love yourself, others, and the world with your whole heart - even though there are no guarantees.

Someday, I hope to be able to do the same. I promise you that I will continue to try.

Love,

Aunt Whitney Rae

The Murky Gray of Sexual Consent

Over the past few days I have been quietly following the conversations around Aziz Ansari and the gray areas of sexual consent. I feel compelled to share my thoughts, which echo many of the voices I have read, because this is a topic that constantly sits on my heart and is one I have never felt comfortable speaking about because so often the conversations I hear around consent and sexual assault are black and white. When it is black and white we can walk away feeling secure in our own actions and behaviors. We are not “those people.” We can tell ourselves I would never be a victim because of x,y, and z, or I would never be a predator because of x,y, and z. This leaves no room to talk about the uncomfortable gray areas that have probably affected all of us, even if it is something we do not want to admit. It does not allow us the space to be messy humans that make messy mistakes. I want to be clear that I am writing this from the perspective of a white, cisgender, heteronormative female.

 I have felt frustrated at the criticisms against “Grace.” It is not always as easy as just saying no. I know this from experience. Many times women feel uncomfortable saying no because of the threat of escalated violence. That is always a real possibility. But sometimes the reasons we don’t say no are grayer than that, messier than that. So much of this gray, murky area is symptoms of our toxic culture of masculinity, that even male allies don’t realize they perpetuate. I don’t directly blame anyone for this - but is something we have to wrestle with and allow ourselves to realize we just might be wrong in some of our long held beliefs.

 I have had more “gray” sexual encounters than I, the staunch feminist, care to admit. Even though, for most of my life, I have surrounded myself with strong females, I have still been susceptible to the influence of toxic masculinity. I am a messy and imperfect person who can only try to be a little better every day. Society has told me that I need to patient and generous. I need to be nice. Compliant. Pleasing. I genuinely want to be some of those traits, and others I would like to shed. I fully recognize the fact that I am able to say “no” at any point, but I’ve also been told to be all these other things that don’t allow me to always say “no.” I often joke with my co-workers that “no” is my favorite word. This is far from the truth. I rarely say no to anyone. I strive to please people, to care for people, to make those around me happy. I’m independent, self-confident, and strong-willed but I deeply care about the feelings of those around me. Part of that is my personality, part of that is being subtly, and not so subtly told, as a female, I should be a certain type of person.

Sex is messy. People have different expectations. It means different things for different people at different times. But we are still expected to respect the rules of sexual etiquette. There have been times I have found myself in situations where the expectation of sex was implied from the beginning. Whether that is going to a male’s home later at night, or scheduling a “hang” after intense flirting. Many times I have clearly said no even if the expectation for sex was clear. Sometimes I did not. Sometimes my body language said no and it was ignored. I don’t blame the men in those situations, I don’t think they are dangerous predators, I don’t even think they are bad guys. But I do think they are victims of our toxic culture of masculinity. They either did not recognize by reluctance, or they chose to ignore it. I genuinely think most of them did not recognize my reluctance because they have been taught a sense of entitlement when it comes to sex. I understood the expectation. I would leave or say no if I wanted. They can’t begin to understand that as a female I am told be contradictory things at the same time. Sex is not just any other social interaction. You can’t simply tell people to avoid dangerous or potentially uncomfortable situations. Sometimes it is not as simple and just saying “no” and leaving. It is intimate and personal. There is a greater capacity for harm. I don’t think it is unreasonable to expect that all parties engage with a greater sense of conscientiousness and empathy for others. Sexual consent is not black and white. It is gray and uncomfortable and messy. And it is something we have to talk about without victim blaming.

I March for Myself

I will march on Saturday. I will march because I am angry. I will march because I am scared. I will march because I believe in the policy platform of The Women’s March. Women’s rights are human rights. Gender justice is racial justice is economic justice. I march because my body should be free from violence. I march for my multiethnic niece and nephew. I march for the children I may, or may not have in the future. I march for that choice. I march to share my story and listen to the stories of strangers and friends. I march to embrace our differences and stand in solidarity together. I march in response to hatred and intolerance. I march because my liberation is bound in yours.

But mostly, I march for myself. I march for the17 year old girl who was sexually assaulted when an older male literally grabbed her by her pussy without consent. I march for the confused girl who felt such shame and embarrassment she never told a soul. I march for the adventuring 23 year old who had her breasts grabbed and butt pinched while walking down the street by two passing males. I march for the 25 year veterinary practice manager who was treated with condescension by male pharmaceutical representatives. I march for the woman who actually held all the power but allowed herself to be intimidated and questioned her own intelligence. I march for the single female in her mid twenties who tolerated groping hands while out dancing with friends.

I march for the self-confident budding feminist who began to speak up while on dates only to be told she was “too this” or “too that” or many times, a bitch. I march for 28 year old who was conned into a timeshare pitch and given the very young, inexperienced salesman. He underestimated her ability to think critically and say no. He became irrationally angry when she refused to buy a timeshare and raised his voice and pointed his finger in her face. I march for the 29 year old who felt extreme nausea when Donald Trump’s 2005 “Access Hollywood” video was leaked. I march for that woman who felt like a scared and embarrassed 17 year old again.

On Saturday I will march because I refuse to accept false value systems that undermine my self worth. On Saturday I will march for my dignity and human rights. I march for myself.

A Promise to My Niece

Dear Laila Rae,

I love you. I did not know how to start this letter so I will start with with my love for you. I love you more than I have ever loved another human. You are the first human I loved before I knew you. When your mother told me she was pregnant my eyes pricked with tears of joy and I felt my heart expand with a new love for you. I did not know your name or gender. In fact the sonogram picture indicated there was a good chance you would be an alien. But I loved you so much. Even today I cannot describe the feeling except to say that in that moment I knew I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone. It was a bit of a relief actually, to finally know I might not be hopelessly selfish, because up until that day I always loved myself first.

I’ll admit, I was hoping your mom would have a boy. We are a family of females and there was a part of me that wanted a little Palmer boy. Then I found out your gender, and your mom wanted to name you after me so I decided having a girl would be alright. If you shared my name you were bound for awesomeness. But really, I was excited at the possibility of being apart of the life of another strong, independent, and fierce Palmer girl. Us Palmer girls, we are pretty incredible. We are stubborn, bossy, determined, and nasty women.

This brings me to why I am writing you this letter. I am writing you this letter because I failed you. White women failed you. White Christians failed you. White privileged people failed you. I am all of these things. Laila, we elected a man into office who is against so much of what I believe in, he is the antithesis of what I dream for you. I don’t know what to tell you. When I woke up the morning after he was elected I felt relief in your tender age of two. I thought, at least we don’t have to explain this to you. But that feels dishonest because he will affect your future and I absolutely have the responsibility to explain this to you because I failed you.

This letter is part apology, part an explanation for what I think happened, and part a promise for what I will do in the future to ensure I do not fail you again. My apology is pretty simple. I am sorry I allowed my privilege to blind me. I was one of those people who said no way can Trump win the Republican nomination. Then I started to feel fear but was still pretty confident that there was no way Trump could win the presidency. Then election night I sat watching the numbers come in and felt shocked. I was stunned that this could happen in my democracy. I went through so many emotions. I was horrified, angry, sad, and hysterical. Eva Dog thought I lost my mind. Laila, I have always believed that I was a pretty strong advocate and ally for those in need. In my self-righteous quests for justice I forgot about some marginalized communities, which is inexcusable because I live in one of those communities. I forgot about poor white people.

It was my white, economic privilege that allowed me to disregard this population, and for that I am sorry. I have not listened to their pain, concerns and fears. I have done nothing to be a peacemaker in these communities so I have to accept responsibility for why they voted for Donald Trump. Laila, even though I voted for Hillary Clinton, and was so excited at the prospect that many of your formative years would be under a female president, I still have to accept responsibility for the presidency we were given. From my position of economic and educational privilege I decided whose and what needs were more important and ignored some of the struggles in my own community.

Laila, I am not trying to excuse the actions of anyone. I am horrified that white people were able to hold their noses and cover their eyes and endorse Donald Trump. They knew what he is and ignored it in favor of their own comfort. They are fully responsible for hatred and blatant acts of aggression engulfing children and adults of color, those in the LGBTQ community, those in the Muslim communities. White privilege is a very real thing. It is something I have struggled with for many years. I have accepted my own white privilege and have been working to make sure I am an ally for people of color, but there are a lot of white people who resent the term white privilege and I understand why.

You have spend a lot of time on the Eastern Shore and you probably think it is a weird place. People have funny accents and drive large, noisy trucks that smell horrible. You have been to our beaches and seen the large mansions that dot the coast. You have also driven through small farm towns where people live in much smaller, and sometimes rundown houses. Worcester county is a strange place, Laila. It is a very rich county in an even richer state. But the majority of the people who live here don’t have very much money. All the wealth and fancy houses are owned by a small fraction of the population. Most of the people, both white and of color, work really hard.

Right now, I am going to try to explain the white people to you. They live paycheck to paycheck, many right on the poverty line. These people are the butt of jokes, but receive no sympathy because of their whiteness. They don’t want to hear about their white privilege when they work sunup to sundown and do not have economic freedom. They have to believe that if people work hard enough they will succeed. This idea is central to their self-worth, because as others like to point out, they have white privilege. Which they do; I’m not denying that. But to them, the message of white privilege also says, if they are not succeeding, it is their own fault. They had no institutional racism standing in their way. If they are not succeeding they are the lazy ones, the unintelligent ones, the lesser citizen. So they deny white privilege. I don’t want to oversimplify anything, and the situation is much more complicated, but this is one dynamic that self-righteous, white privileged activists like to ignore (just to clarify that’s me). Donald Trump spoke for these people. He told them their lack of success is not their fault. People felt like Donald Trump gave them a voice so they voted for him.

Another dynamic is race. I would be lying to you if I did not tell you this election is a white backlash against eight years of a black president. It is a whitelash against the Black Lives Matter movement, immigration fears and Islamophobia. Donald Trump did not create the racism in our society but he allowed it a voice. He told people their fears, albeit irrational and unfounded, were justified. In this justification he gave people the freedom to publicly vocalize their racism, and now they feel justified in following their words with acts of racism. I am scared for you and I am scared for your brother.

You will grow up in a strange world, Laila. It is difficult for me to understand what your struggle will be because you are white and you are also black. It will be difficult for you to understand these two very different histories that make up a large part of who you are and who you will become. You do not look entirely white, and you do not look entirely black. You have a hue to your skin and a tight curls. Right now it is an afro. You are also incredibly beautiful. You have been told this a lot, and will continue to hear it for many years. Physically, you are very appealing. I struggle with this because I want you confidence to come from your existence; I want you to be proud of your appearance but I never want you defined by it. So right now I am trying to teach you to tell people your beauty is genetic and unattainable. Which is true.

I’m getting sidetracked, which is easy for me to do because there are so many things I want to tell you, teach you, and learn from you. You will be raised by a white mother and have the influence of your white aunts. You currently live in a gentrified neighborhood and will be offered economic privileges. You will not fit into a niche and while that will be difficult I know it will make you a nasty woman I will be proud to call my niece.

I will make a promise to you. I will continue to work as a peacemaker. I will be more diligent and I will put my own comfort aside for the rights of my brothers and sisters of color. I will sacrifice my own white privilege and economic privilege in favor of a just world. I will also listen to the needs of those I have previously cast aside. I will not allow myself to feel helpless because I am still in control. I still live in a democracy and I still have a voice. Sometimes I have quieted my voice in favor of making other comfortable. I have been in situations where I avoided making comments or having conversations to not “rock the boat.” Laila, I promise you I will do that no longer. Many people will call me obnoxious. I might lose some friends but I will gain others. But I will do this all from a place of love. I will love my neighbor and I will love my enemy. I don’t want you to grow up in a hateful world, and I will do all I can in the next few years to hopefully repair it as much as possible before you get much older. But even if I fail, I want you to remember how much you are loved, and I want you to love the world. Even the white, privileged, Christians that failed you.

Right now there are people out there defacing prayer rooms, taunting gay and transgender teenagers, threatening Muslim families, and boys grabbing girls vaginas. In spite of this hatred, I want you to remember, people are more that the worst thing they have ever done. Don’t get me wrong, these people need to be held accountable, and their actions need to be condemned and stopped, but they too are redeemable. In order to be real peacemakers we need to listen to all sides, not just the side we think is justified. I made that mistake and now we have Donald Trump as president. Unfortunately for me, it is up to white people to fix this. I read a blog and the author, John Pavlovitz said this:

“Oppressed people aren’t obliged to make nice with their oppressors.

The bullied don’t owe anything to the bullies.

Victims don’t have to make their assailants feel better.

Young children of color aren’t responsible to educate racist children—or their parents.”

So, again I promise you, Laila. I will try to fix this.

Love,

Aunt Whitney Rae

Loving My Neighbor Is Hard Today

I am from Trump country. I grew up in Trump country, went away to college, moved abroad, then moved back to Trump country. Most of my neighbors and co-workers voted for Trump. I knew they would be voting for him before the election and while it was painful I had some peace of mind because while we live on the rural Eastern Shore we are still in the very blue state of Maryland. I was pretty confident in a Clinton win, and while knew I would have conversations about healing racial divides, I thought those conversations would come as the “winner.” I was not thrilled with a Clinton presidency but I did not think I would have the fear I feel today.

I understand Trump voters and I deeply love many Trump voters. People who are from the Eastern Shore are ridiculed in Maryland. DC and Baltimore people, I love you too, but you know you sigh and shake your heads at our “backward ways.” You can’t understand our accents or our conservative values. While I live on the Eastern Shore I also live in one of the richest counties in Maryland, so our county is pretty rich. Worcester County has Ocean City and waterfront properties. We have a lot of money that comes in from real estate and tourism. But this money comes from a very small part of the county and the wealth is held in an even smaller number of hands. If you drive down Route 113 out of Ocean City and towards Snow Hill (or Slow Hill as many like to call it) you will find small family farms.

My neighbors are the subjects of jokes, experience the reality of poverty, but receive no sympathy. They are white. They don’t want to hear about their white privilege when they live paycheck to paycheck, right on the poverty line, and literally work sunup to sundown. They work hard and believe if they just work hard enough they will succeed. This idea is central to their self-worth, because as others like to point out, they have white privilege. Which they do; I’m not denying that. But to them, the message of white privilege also says, if they are not succeeding, it is their own fault. They had no institutional racism standing in their way. If they are not succeeding they are the lazy ones, the unintelligent ones, the lesser citizen. So they deny white privilege. I understand the situation is more complicated and there are other dynamics, but this is one major dynamic in my community. My community has not felt that it has a voice. It is a group of Americans with conservative values and not much money living in a rich county in a very blue state. So they voted for Trump.

Yesterday, the day after the election, I took a mental health day. I did not know how I was going to go to work and be nice to my neighbors. I was angry and did not know how I would continue to love my community or speak kindly. I wanted to lecture them on how they voted against their own interests and demand they explain to me how they are not xenophobic, misogynist, and racist. I went through so many emotions yesterday. I yoyo-ed between boiling rage, sobbing tears, and hope. My poor dog must have thought I lost my mind.

But I need to be hopeful. I am an optimistic person and am most productive when I am hopeful. I

want to have faith in our democracy. I need to believe that our country can work together to heal racial divides. Today I went back to work. Today I spoke to my Trump supporting neighbors, whom I still love. I gave them hugs and then had hard conversations. Most of my co-workers avoid political conversations with me because they know we generally disagree. I have allowed people to avoid these conversations for the sake of their comfort but I won’t allow it anymore. I told them even though they voted for Trump I still love them. We will still be friends but I need you to understand why I am hurting. I am hurting because I am afraid. I am not, and have never been, afraid of a Republican presidency. I am afraid of a Trump presidency. I am afraid of our president elect because of the very real threats he has made against women, immigrants, Muslims, and people of color. I am afraid of Mike Pence and his desire to take away rights of LGBTQ people and reproductive rights. I am fearful of the white supremacists who feel emboldened by a Trump presidency. I am not scared for myself. I have a lot of privilege and economic power; I will be fine.

My neighbors constantly tell me they are not xenophobic, misogynist, or racist. They voted for Trump due to his economic policy. I asked, what are you going to do to work against the white nationalists that just yesterday made real threats against people of color? How are you going to join in the fight to protect the rights of those whom Trump has threatened? This conversation made a lot of people uncomfortable but I refuse to be silent for the sake of comfort. I will continue to ask the uncomfortable conversations and demand answers. I will continue to work for peace and justice. I will continue to love my neighbor.

Dear Donald

Dear Donald,

Congratulations. You are the 45th President of the United States. At the moment I am writing you this it appears you did not win the popular vote. I’m not upset about this. I actually support the electoral college because I believe it is important that our smaller, less populated states have a voice in our government. I did not vote for you. I actually vomited when I learned you would be my president. But it’s okay. You are now my president. You have a very tough job ahead of you and I am not jealous the path you have chosen. You see, Donald, you are now accountable to me. You are accountable to all of your supporters, but you are also the president of, and therefore accountable to over half the population that did not vote for you. I’m nervous for you, Donald. I don’t think you have ever been held accountable to anyone but yourself in your entire life. You will be responsible for everyone in this country. I’m hope you understand what this means because I don’t think you will like it.

You will be criticized everyday of your life for the next four, heck, maybe even eight years. You have not accepted criticism graciously in the past. I will criticize you everyday. Now, Donald, this is not me being a sore loser. I voted for President Obama twice and I have criticized him everyday for the last eight years. I believe that we need criticism in order to grown and constantly seek something better. I have never found good enough acceptable. I also believe criticism needs to be accepted graciously. You are free to disagree with my critiques, but you must accept it graciously because you are accountable to me. You represent me, whether you like it or not, and you have to listen to my voice.

You say you will work to bridge divides and unite our country. I hope you can, and I will work with you for this goal. While am a registered Democrat I do not vote solely along party lines. I actually want a mixed Senate because I want policies passed that represent the interests of our entire country. I hope you can accomplish this. I hope you can keep our unemployment at record lows and create an increase in wages. It is still unclear to me how your current proposals will accomplish this, but I want you to succeed. Donald, I want you to know I will hold you accountable to this promise. You have a Republican majority in Congress so you don’t get a pass. You have one chance to do this right and I want to help you do this.

I want you to succeed, Donald. Your success is my success. But I need something from you. It is a big thing. It is a thing I am not sure you are willing to give me.

I need an apology.

Your words about women during your campaign have wounded me and torn me apart. You have hurt so many people in the country with language filled with hate and fear. There are many people you should apologize to but today I am going to speak to my own experience as a white woman.

I understand the words that came out of the Hollywood Access tape are over ten years old. But you see, ten years is not a long time to a girl who has been sexually assaulted. Donald, time does not matter. Sexual assault stays with us forever. It never goes away. You claim your words were “locker room banter.” You say you apologized. You never apologized. You excused your words and invalidated me. You invalidated the experience of women; those of us who have experienced sexual assault, and those of us who have not. It was not just one tape that has wounded me so deeply. Your words have constantly demeaned my gender and undermined my self-worth. You can’t understand my experience, and I don’t claim to understand yours. So when I say you have broken my heart you don’t get to say, “it was locker room banter.” You don’t get a pass as president. You are held to a higher standard. You have to acknowledge that my pain and fear for my reproductive rights are real. And that you created the pain and fear.

You are now my president. You are now accountable to me and as I told you earlier I don’t think you will like it. I know you don’t want to apologize to me for all the demeaning remarks you have made about women. But you need to if you want to heal this country. You have a lot of people to whom you need to apologize.

No one wants to admit when they are wrong but you will be wrong many times during your presidency. It is inevitable. You are human and you will make mistakes. That’s okay, and I hope we as a country can help you navigate those mistakes. But you will have to apologize. You will have to express remorse and you will have to accept responsibility for your actions. Your actions will now impact the entire world. I hope you are ready for that.

With Tremendous Love,

Whitney