Keeping an Open Heart in Divisive Times.

Politics grows more divisive with each election cycle.

Honestly, I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore this sharp, growing divide—a divide that, for me, goes beyond debates over tax reform or infrastructure.

It’s become less about disagreeing on policy and more about the values we hold. When people I know and love support policies that actively threaten my rights and freedoms, it’s hard not to feel that disconnect on a deeply personal level.

I want to be clear: it’s not that I don’t care about you or value your humanity—I do, deeply. But it’s hard not to wonder if you see mine in the same way. I’m a bisexual woman who doesn’t want to reproduce—a person who values personal freedom and bodily autonomy. For me, these aren’t privileges; they’re rights. When I see Trump’s policies attacking those rights, it’s terrifying. Whether it’s reproductive rights or LGBTQ+ protections, I’ve seen how these rights can erode (think Roe v. Wade, bans on same-sex marriage), leaving me with less freedom to live as openly as others do.

That said, I know that my life and autonomy, while deeply impacted, aren’t as fragile as others’. Being a white woman, I recognize the privileges that guard me from the worst of these policies. But for people of color, immigrants, trans individuals—these policies could mean life or death. This election season—most election seasons—aren’t just about dignity or freedom, they’re about survival.

So, when I hear someone say, “I still love you even if we don’t agree,” or “I hope you can look past our differences,” I want to explain why those words sting.

While I appreciate sentiment, it feels contradictory to your actions and it feels painfully dismissive. It suggests we’re just on opposite sides of some everyday debate when, in reality, it’s much deeper than that. This isn’t about differing opinions. It’s about basic rights—issues that go to the heart of what it means to be free and safe in this country.

And I get it—maybe that’s hard to understand if you’ve never felt your own safety and dignity are under threat.

It’s so much easier to call for unity and “look past differences” when your existence isn’t on the line. If you are a straight, cisgender, white man, these issues might seem theoretical or abstract. But for people like me, they’re not.

This isn’t a mental exercise.

It’s a visceral reality where I have to vote with the knowledge that some people simply don’t see my worth.

When people suggest we “be adults” or “look beyond” these differences, it feels like an oversimplification of what’s truly at stake. I’m also aware that, for some, economic concerns are front and center. I get that money, taxes, and financial security feel like priorities that can’t be ignored. But to me, there’s a limit to the “vote with your wallet” mentality.

Dignity, safety, and autonomy can’t be replaced by financial stability if they’re taken away. Imagine if, with each election cycle, each vote against your rights felt like a statement that you’re not seen as deserving of the same protections or dignity as everyone else. It’s exhausting, and it’s personal.

I still have hope—maybe because it’s all I can hold onto.

I hope that we’re capable of deeper compassion, a little more understanding, and a lot more honesty. That we’re able to see that these issues go beyond politics and get to the heart of what it means to be seen and valued. And maybe, if we’re honest, we can start acknowledging that this isn’t just about policy differences. It’s about where we draw the line on who deserves to live freely and fully in a country that was supposed to guarantee that to us all.

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