"America isn't ready for a woman"

“America isn’t ready for a woman" I think this is the phrase I’ve heard repeated most often during my latest campaign efforts. One man told me that I’m what’s wrong with America. Yes. Curse my desire for living wages, healthcare, earth-friendly practices, gun safety, and human rights. It was slightly refreshing, I don’t know that I’ve been blamed for ruining a country since I left the cult. But for the most part, people all say the same thing: “I really like Elizabeth, and I want to vote for her, but I’m worried because I don’t know if America is ready for a woman”. Hey, everybody, America is keeping children in cages. The world is literally on fire. We worry about our kids’ future and we have a Secretary of Education who has never worked in a public school, but we’re not ready for a President who has just because she’s a woman? I really don’t get it. I knock on door after door and I keep hearing the same thing! She got here on her own, without riding the coattails of the Democrat’s most beloved President of our time. People are afraid of voting for all 3 men because they’re 78, but afraid to vote for a 71 year old because she’s a woman. All my life I’ve been taught that a woman should never hold authority over a man, let alone the free world. But I thought the rest of you guys out there weren’t raised in my cult. I would never vote for someone based on their gender, be it cis or otherwise, but I would also never vote against them for it! You can read all of the prediction statistics you want, but the fact is that she can become our next President if those of us in the Super Tuesday states stop worrying about what America is ready for and vote for what we believe is right. I’ll spare you the audio clip, but for weeks I’ve been singing “If you join us right now, together we can turn the tiiiiiiiiides”.

I’m not big on social media bickering, I don’t think that it does any good so I very rarely partake. This is not a plea for your vote. Writing is my way of processing what’s happening around me, so that’s what I’m doing; working though everything I’ve heard over the past few months, and admittedly begging you not to make me vote for the #motherfuckingdemocraticrepublicans just to keep Trump from winning. I’m tired of settling. I’m tired of casting a vote in a lose-lose election with the lyrics to “Dear Mr Hamilton” still ringing true.

I’ve always liked politics. My grandfather used to work at City Hall and I loved going to visit his office whenever I could. This was of course long before I learned about what grooming was or how much he had abused the rest of the family. All I knew was that I loved being in a place where there was the potential to make the world a better place. I thought maybe one day, I could be a secretary and handle all of the busy work in order for the men to have time to get the important things done. I always went with both of my parents when they voted, and sometimes they would let me flick down the little levers in the voting booths. My mother would click the individual lever for each candidate, especially since sometimes she would vote for a Democrat; her small, secret act of defiance and free will. My father on the other hand would always click the one lever that voted for the entire party across the board, unless the Republicans managed to let a woman onto their ticket, then he would be forced to vote for the male Democrat.

We used to visit the Connecticut state capitol a few times a year for our homeschool “field trips” and for the National Day of Prayer. We were friends with a few of the state reps, and it always thrilled me to sit in their seats and imagine that I was part of the house.

Independence Day was my favorite holiday as a kid. Since very few members of my extended family wanted to speak to each other, we would have Christmas Eve and Christmas in shifts. But you couldn’t watch the fireworks in shifts, so every Summer we would spend a few hours all together on several giant blankets and no one would fight. I was proud to be a part of a country that wasn’t afraid to change the world. Every year on July 4th we would watch the movie 1776. Honestly, that’s where I learned a good portion of American history (I’m not kidding. When I went to D.C. I was able to answer all of the tour guide’s trivia questions because of what I had learned from that movie). I know every word to every song, and I took up playing the violin because of Thomas Jefferson. Abigail Adams has been my favorite lady since I was a child because while all these men were off bickering with each other and drinking rum, she was stuck home with four sick kids, a farm, and they STILL needed her to make them saltpeter. When I found out that I was having a daughter (well, two daughters) I knew that instant that one would be named Abigail. Martha Jefferson was portrayed as pretty nice, but Abigail was a complete badass who got shit done.

Although I couldn’t vote until I was 18, I started working at the polls when I was 16. I LOVED every second of it. I spent most of my teen elections as the person who crossed off the names in the voter log. My mother started as the one who crossed off the names, but she’s since moved up the ladder and become a moderator, and goes around to nursing homes in order to help with absentee ballots, and signs up new voters at the high school and town events. My father is also a moderator now because he wouldn’t allow my mother to hold a position that was above him in authority on election day. My sister has jumped into the election day game as well. When I turned 18 I registered as a Republican, because isn’t that what good, obedient, Christian women do? I never questioned the politics of my family, although I felt my first twinge of conflict when I listened to Al Gore talk about climate change and thought “Why is it that he’s showing us scientific facts and we still think he’s lying?”. But, to my regret, I voted for Bush. Twice. I’m sorry. I’m really, genuinely sorry. I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that John Kerry was the anti-christ. I’m completely serious. I was given Biblical evidence. That’s why I voted for Bush, the “Christian” with the running mate who cared more about his success than the rights of his own daughter. It never made sense to me that so many Republicans had kids who were living the lives their parents were actively campaigning against, such as LGBTQ (read: “human”) and reproductive rights or teen pregnancy. My father and church always explained that as a reason to stick to the most conservative vote, pointing back to the teaching that “What the parents will allow in moderation, the children will excuse to excess”. I heard that one a BUNCH. First women wanted to vote, and now they want to run for office!?! That’s because our grandparents allowed women some moderation. The most regrettable vote I’ve ever made may have been when I voted for McCain in 2008. That was the last time I ever let my father control my vote. That was probably my favorite election year though, because I’d never seen my father so conflicted. Would he vote for the black, male Democrat, or the Republican who shared his beliefs but would leave us with the first woman president if he died. Oh, if I didn’t mention it before, I was also raised super racist and despite my best efforts, I may never be able to make up for the years I spent joining in their hatred instead of fighting it. One very nice (but SUPER boring) guy from church asked my father if he could court (date me with supervision with the intent of marriage) me but my father told him no, because he was black. My father told him that! I’m eternally sorry. I did vote for Obama in 2012, but I feel like that’s about as weak of a defense as “I have a lot of black friends”. There is still so much I have to learn, and I know I’ll never understand the immense forms of oppression still being practiced today, but I want to help make it stop.

By the time I moved to Maine I was fully on board with what an asshole I had been and I dove deeply into researching everyone who would earn my vote. The people who lived downstairs put a sign in the yard for a state rep., and after spending a few seconds on her website I emailed her incumbent opponent, Ryan Fecteau, to pledge my support and ask for a sign. He came over that day, hung out with us while we played “watch my kids try to put Cheerios in their mouths”, and has been a fabulous part of my life ever since. This was early 2016, when none of us thought that Trump had a chance. I wrote a parody about how terrible he is to “Sister Suffragettes” and as I was singing it I fully believed that I’d be able to tell my girls that they were born in the same year that America elected its first woman President. I didn’t vote for Hilary because she was a woman. I voted for her because I believed that of our choices, she was the person who would do the most good for the world. But instead, America broke my heart. I’d really like if you guys don’t force me to do that again.

I love the part of the Declaration of Independence that says “But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and provide new Guards for their future security.”, better explained in National Treasure as “Those who have the ability to act, have the duty to act”. I wanted to change the world but I also had twins who were six months old and a husband in med-school, so basically I was on my own. I was getting pretty lonely, but during a visit from my in-laws, my mother-in-law suggested that I go check out the newly forming Young Dems while they watched the girls. I jumped at the chance and learned that the group was led by a one year old’s mom, Natalie, who was looking to demand that Sen. Susan Collins hold a town hall by writing her a parody. We became instant best friends. I continued to be an active part of the group, having my votes counted from my spot on the floor where I would sit in order to breastfeed the twins without killing my back. Natalie would conduct meetings while feeding her daughter snacks and drawing pictures with her without ever losing track of the agenda. I remember walking into one meeting and feeling especially overwhelmed when I asked the first woman I saw if she could hold a baby for me while I changed the other one. After I was all set, I introduced myself to our visitor, who kept working on her paperwork while holding a twin. Turns out it was Betsy Sweet and she was running for governor. I started to apologize as quickly as I could but she explained that she was the single mom of twins and remembered my situation well. We haven’t seen the last of her.

I started to collect signatures and go door-to-door for votes on issues like banning conversion therapy on teens (yup), healthcare, and ranked choice voting.

When I do something, I’m all in. I really just want to die knowing that the world is better because I was in it and not worse. If I have something I’m not using that you need, it’s yours. Speaking of which, I started admining for my local Buy Nothing Project and it’s possibly the best outlet I’ve found for restoring faith in humanity. Go join yours. I donate blood as often as allowed and it stresses me out that it’s difficult to find someone willing to babysit for free for a few hours so that I can give plasma. You want one of my kidneys? You can have it. I spent the first half of my life not understanding that climate change is a thing and now I’m an avid composter who makes her own hair gel, and loves designing new patterns on clothes because why buy when you can mend??

This is the first year I’ve worked on a presidential campaign. I love it and I'm excited to work on more campaigns in the future. I’m invested enough that now I get hives every time I watch a debate. My kids are learning their numbers by finding canvas addresses and dialing my phone for hours and hours of phone banking. After spending far too long being told how I should vote, I’m very careful that when I involve my kids that I let them know that “Mommy (not we are) is voting this way because…” and when I bring them to protests I never put words in their mouths, only explain what it is I’m standing against. I would like it if they grow up to have the same ideals that I’ve chosen, but because they believe in them, not because they were told to do so.

I must have listened to the soundtrack to #Hamilton at least a zillion times by now, and it’s my go-to pump-up CD when I’m out canvasing. That may be the only musical that could steal 1776’s place on my favorite’s list. The story of Hamilton took place during the birth of our nation, when America wasn’t ready for independence, but did it anyway. We are a nation that thrives on going for a change even when it’s terrifying because even if we don’t know if the people are ready for it, they need it. “Are you aware that we’re making history?” was true then and continues today. America is able to sit in the audience and cheer when Angelica says that she’s going to compel Jefferson to include women as equals to men. We can #riseup for a standing ovation when Eliza Hamilton is the one who set aside her unimaginable grief in order to continue what her husband had started. How is it that we can experience the stories of our history and feel the pain of how tragic it was that no one saw the potential of women back then, but 243 years later still say that America isn’t ready for a woman?!

I urge you to head to the polls with the intention to vote based on the ideals you know will be best for us, all of us, not on fear. Do not throw away your shot.

America might not be ready for a woman, but are you? I am.