Losing an election was a feeling of a lot of different failures in one.
It was a public humiliation because now everyone knew my dreams AND that I wasn't achieving them; I didn't get to hide behind the curated social media frame of life successes.
It was a career failure, as the trajectory of my job and earning potential in public service that I envisioned for a majority of my adult life faded away.
It was an avocational failure, for someone who made politics such an integral life component. My friends, social life, enjoyment came from community involvement and politics and that died with the loss.
It was like a breakup, as I realize they - the voting public and community I have given countless volunteer hours and commitment to - were just not that into me.
It was, as my friend called it, a load-bearing failure. It was a failure decades in the making that crashed down in a day.
---
If you had asked me in the spring of 2004 - bright-eyed, optimistic, and 18 - my life plan was to do the military thing for a bit, start a poli-sci major at the U of M after training, and take summers to be a Congressional intern in DC. I knew about the crazy hours and cramped living, how you just ran errands for people who made more money in an hour that you did in a week, and I was SO excited to be one of them. I couldn't wait to be there because it would give me the experience and the clout needed for when I ran for bigger things.
I made it to my first semester at the U before my surprise baby and marriage rerouted me through my 20s. But, even with two little kids, I stayed involved in community projects, met influential people, and eventually, at age 30, I was asked to run for office, and my dreams were back on track. No poli-sci major, no internship, but years of experience in life to back it up.
On the first run in 2016, I was just a name on a ballot. I had signed up as a candidate, but wasn't allowed to campaign because of my employer. I hadn't made any real plans to win because of where I was in life, so it was all fun, not disappointing when I lost 42-57 for State Senator. I was thrilled with how much I learned behind the scenes, and that people knew my name now. I observed and took notes on what I would do for when I REALLY ran and I had people ready to back me up for that day to come, too.
So, when my party suggested I run again in 2018 for State Representative, I went all in. I cleared it with work, I consulted my kids, I ran how I wanted, and I ran to win. From July 1 until November 6, I did campaign work every single day for my community and my party. I volunteered at events, sat in on board meetings, went door to door, walked in parades, patronized small business Saturdays, talked and listened and did everything politics. My friends and family believed in me so much that even in a blue district, in the the bluest state, in the biggest year of hate against my party, I truly believed I could win.
Then I didn't. I lost by a bigger margin than when I did nothing in 2016. I was crushed.
I found out I lost in the bathroom of Poor Richards. I was having my watch party with a small sample of dedicated friends and family who bothered to attend. I was taking the "whatever happens, it was meant to be" high road, but the insecurity crept into my curiosity and I went to check the results on my own in a handicap stall. I lost. I came back to the group, some of whom had also checked while I stepped out, and I was welcomed back to "we'll get em next time" encouragement, and I agreed. I didn't cry, just slowed the night, packed up all the extra food, and left alone.
I got home at midnight and I cried. No, not cried...sobbed. I sobbed harder than I had in years. Heaving, hyperventilating, screaming, eye hurting, tears in the dark alone in the my room sobbed. I don't even remember stopping, my eyes just shut because they hurt. 5 months of exhaustion and emotions came out at once and I felt it all.
On November 7, I woke up and cried again. This time, silently and head ached when I remembered the day before as I got my kids ready for school. I cried in the car as I drove to work past the yard signs that were now a cruel taunt directed at me. I cried while staring at my computer after any of my wonderfully supportive coworkers came to give me their condolences, or when my puppy under my desk tried to cheer me up. I cried on my way home listening to Adele to try and squeeze all the tears out so that I could wipe my eyes in the driveway and not let my kids see how sad I was. I cried at my night job when my apolitical bartender friend asked how I did and gave me a hug, only then realizing I couldn't talk. I cried what felt like a constant stream for days.
Then I cried for a week. I stopped replying to people because there was nothing to say. 10 days later, the deadline I gave myself to stop being sad came and went and I cried about that. I stopped drinking - after ONLY drinking - because I had hit my rock bottom in self-pity and resentment and the depression got louder after a few (or 7-10) beers. Then I stopped going in public because I didn't like being caught off guard by friends or acquaintances and crying at people. I cried at Thanksgiving when family asked about the race and couldn't even fake that I was totally over it.
Two months after, I tried to attend a political meeting with a friend, drove there with knots in my stomach, but was proud of myself for standing up again. I walked in the door and saw my friend, but also saw people who had won their races, people who rooted against me, and people who said ugly things about my in the political area who were now smiling and giving me the pity voice to my face. My throat got tight and I went to the bathroom to get the tears out, but for 5 minutes they wouldn't stop. I hustled out with my head down, quickly grabbed my things, apologized to my friend, and left.
I didn't like this version of myself, but I was incapable of being anything else.
For months, as my agoraphobia grew, so did my disdain for my community who didn't vote for me, my friends who didn't help enough, myself for ever thinking I could win. I grew isolated and bitter, only leaving my house for work or for my kids. I slept a lot. I made excuses to cancel plans and quit commitments. I ignored my life because staying involved hurt too much.
I had not only failed in the election, but now I had failed at being a gracious loser, a resilient community member, and I was failing as a functioning human being. I was completely defined by one failure and the dominoes were falling to fail in everything.
It was a public humiliation because now everyone knew my dreams AND that I wasn't achieving them; I didn't get to hide behind the curated social media frame of life successes.
It was a career failure, as the trajectory of my job and earning potential in public service that I envisioned for a majority of my adult life faded away.
It was an avocational failure, for someone who made politics such an integral life component. My friends, social life, enjoyment came from community involvement and politics and that died with the loss.
It was like a breakup, as I realize they - the voting public and community I have given countless volunteer hours and commitment to - were just not that into me.
It was, as my friend called it, a load-bearing failure. It was a failure decades in the making that crashed down in a day.
---
If you had asked me in the spring of 2004 - bright-eyed, optimistic, and 18 - my life plan was to do the military thing for a bit, start a poli-sci major at the U of M after training, and take summers to be a Congressional intern in DC. I knew about the crazy hours and cramped living, how you just ran errands for people who made more money in an hour that you did in a week, and I was SO excited to be one of them. I couldn't wait to be there because it would give me the experience and the clout needed for when I ran for bigger things. I made it to my first semester at the U before my surprise baby and marriage rerouted me through my 20s. But, even with two little kids, I stayed involved in community projects, met influential people, and eventually, at age 30, I was asked to run for office, and my dreams were back on track. No poli-sci major, no internship, but years of experience in life to back it up.
On the first run in 2016, I was just a name on a ballot. I had signed up as a candidate, but wasn't allowed to campaign because of my employer. I hadn't made any real plans to win because of where I was in life, so it was all fun, not disappointing when I lost 42-57 for State Senator. I was thrilled with how much I learned behind the scenes, and that people knew my name now. I observed and took notes on what I would do for when I REALLY ran and I had people ready to back me up for that day to come, too.So, when my party suggested I run again in 2018 for State Representative, I went all in. I cleared it with work, I consulted my kids, I ran how I wanted, and I ran to win. From July 1 until November 6, I did campaign work every single day for my community and my party. I volunteered at events, sat in on board meetings, went door to door, walked in parades, patronized small business Saturdays, talked and listened and did everything politics. My friends and family believed in me so much that even in a blue district, in the the bluest state, in the biggest year of hate against my party, I truly believed I could win.
Then I didn't. I lost by a bigger margin than when I did nothing in 2016. I was crushed.
I found out I lost in the bathroom of Poor Richards. I was having my watch party with a small sample of dedicated friends and family who bothered to attend. I was taking the "whatever happens, it was meant to be" high road, but the insecurity crept into my curiosity and I went to check the results on my own in a handicap stall. I lost. I came back to the group, some of whom had also checked while I stepped out, and I was welcomed back to "we'll get em next time" encouragement, and I agreed. I didn't cry, just slowed the night, packed up all the extra food, and left alone.I got home at midnight and I cried. No, not cried...sobbed. I sobbed harder than I had in years. Heaving, hyperventilating, screaming, eye hurting, tears in the dark alone in the my room sobbed. I don't even remember stopping, my eyes just shut because they hurt. 5 months of exhaustion and emotions came out at once and I felt it all.
On November 7, I woke up and cried again. This time, silently and head ached when I remembered the day before as I got my kids ready for school. I cried in the car as I drove to work past the yard signs that were now a cruel taunt directed at me. I cried while staring at my computer after any of my wonderfully supportive coworkers came to give me their condolences, or when my puppy under my desk tried to cheer me up. I cried on my way home listening to Adele to try and squeeze all the tears out so that I could wipe my eyes in the driveway and not let my kids see how sad I was. I cried at my night job when my apolitical bartender friend asked how I did and gave me a hug, only then realizing I couldn't talk. I cried what felt like a constant stream for days.
Then I cried for a week. I stopped replying to people because there was nothing to say. 10 days later, the deadline I gave myself to stop being sad came and went and I cried about that. I stopped drinking - after ONLY drinking - because I had hit my rock bottom in self-pity and resentment and the depression got louder after a few (or 7-10) beers. Then I stopped going in public because I didn't like being caught off guard by friends or acquaintances and crying at people. I cried at Thanksgiving when family asked about the race and couldn't even fake that I was totally over it.
Two months after, I tried to attend a political meeting with a friend, drove there with knots in my stomach, but was proud of myself for standing up again. I walked in the door and saw my friend, but also saw people who had won their races, people who rooted against me, and people who said ugly things about my in the political area who were now smiling and giving me the pity voice to my face. My throat got tight and I went to the bathroom to get the tears out, but for 5 minutes they wouldn't stop. I hustled out with my head down, quickly grabbed my things, apologized to my friend, and left.
I didn't like this version of myself, but I was incapable of being anything else.
For months, as my agoraphobia grew, so did my disdain for my community who didn't vote for me, my friends who didn't help enough, myself for ever thinking I could win. I grew isolated and bitter, only leaving my house for work or for my kids. I slept a lot. I made excuses to cancel plans and quit commitments. I ignored my life because staying involved hurt too much.
I had not only failed in the election, but now I had failed at being a gracious loser, a resilient community member, and I was failing as a functioning human being. I was completely defined by one failure and the dominoes were falling to fail in everything.
Comments
Post a Comment