Here’s something I wrote two days after the election (slightly edited), when I was raw and numb. Yes, I can be both simultaneously.

Exhausted, drained, heartbroken.

I know that goodness and love will prevail. I know that this is a beautiful planet, and even through my despair, I see beauty every day.

Last night, I spent time with my awesome, brilliant and adorable grandbaby, watching him run around, yell and laugh, and helping him turn his Transformer from a robot back to a car (Who knew? I have zero mechanical ability, but he had faith in me, and I did it.) He’s two and would make a better president than that racist, misogynistic man that half the country thought would be a refreshing change, or as I see it, fuck this country up even more than it already is, trash the legacy of our first Black president, and give women, POC, LGBTQ people, the disabled, and anyone who cares about decency a big slap across our collective face.

So, yes, I’m angry. I’m also terribly sad, but I know I will be hopeful again, too. People devastated by this election are doing the best they can. Some need to look for hope, some need to rage, some need to grieve, some need a big fucking margarita, some need to cry, and some need to do all of the above. I need to do a little, or a lot, of each, especially cry. There’s room for all of it, my emotions will keep swirling and coexisting. I will probably keep crying, keep being angry, even as I regain some hope and take action.

I’m not joking about my grandson, btw. He’d need good advisers (possibly Daniel Tiger and Super Grover, who’d be preferable to what I’ve seen of DT’s list), but all presidents do. He might get a little upset when he doesn’t get his way, but he quickly recovers and is laughing again within minutes. And he’s never cruel.

I’m still raw and imagine I will be for some time. That’s not a bad thing. We can move forward, even with broken hearts. For me, it’s not about regaining all my hope and then being able to take action. For one, I’m not sure how much time we have. I’m going to use my voice as long as I can, even if I’m despairing. It’s only one voice, but it’s one of many.