On Tuesday morning, the sun’s rays pulled me out of bed. I woke up at seven, an unusual occurrence to say the least. The child in me ran around my apartment like it was Christmas Day, making a breakfast of eggs and fruit instead of skipping the typically forgotten meal. I took a shower and set aside time to do my makeup, feeling more put together than most days. I rummaged through my dresser for my Ruth Bader Ginsburg socks and quickly took a picture of them to send to my family, voting blue in Virginia, Indiana, and Kansas. Due to November’s unusual 80-degree weather, I picked out my favorite basic green short-sleeved shirt and a pair of Lucky Brand jeans. Lucky…

On Wednesday morning, the sun hid behind gray, looming clouds. My tears from the night before crusted my eyes shut, hiding reality out of view. I woke up feeling the need for a hug, an unusual occurrence to say the least. My feet dragged me to the kitchen for a cup of chai and later to my dining table to write in my journal. But my words seemed to be hiding… grieving. They were angry… sad… numb. Music seemed like the only way to reach out to those missing words. I reflected on the lyrics of Durand Jones & The Indications’ “Morning in America”:

And I think of my grandmother

How she told me to be strong

It's morning in America

But I can't see the dawn

I wanted to be strong so badly, but the doomscrolling weighed me down. Instagram stories once flooded with pictures of “I voted” stickers and blue hearts had changed overnight into reposts announcing that a felon would be taking office. The same criminal who got elected one morning in seventh grade, altering my world. And more importantly, the world of so many others. At 12 years old, I felt powerless. What could a middle schooler do to reverse this morning? At 20 years old I feel powerless. What can a college student do to reverse this morning, one repeating itself eight years later? 

I’m not sure what I will do yet, but today I grieve, like so many others, with hopes of waking up tomorrow a little stronger. I hope the strength will grow each morning, so I can show my childhood self that I won’t give up even when the system suggests otherwise. I hope to see a woman in office one day, fighting for a just world.

~ A young woman grieving for her younger self,

November 6th, 2024

Written by Nina Southern

Edited by Cate Fennell and Julia Brummell