Election Grief: Why 48.2% of the Electorate Feels Despair

That feeling of emptiness and despair some are living with? It's grief.

Nov 15, 2024

Are you feeling grief as a result of the election? This is a call for stories…your stories. Drop me a note at jaredpaventi@gmail.com and put Election in the subject line. Tell me why you’re grieving the election and what you see at the end of the tunnel (light, darkness, . All stories will be shared anonymously.

No Kornackis were harmed during the creation of this graphic.

The Hot Take Industrial Complex has overflowed since Nov. 5 and everyone with a platform is offering their opinion on what went wrong, who wronged who, and who is going to suffer worse once rePresident Trump1 is officially sworn in.

It started with the post-mortems dissecting what happened. In the 36 hours after Trump was projected as the next president, Politico published pieces saying that it was the result of not going on Joe Rogan, not breaking from Joe Biden, misogyny, failure of the abortion message, Joe Biden’s existence, shitty polls, losing Polish-Americans, and the always popular chorus of insiders with their big idea.

Similarly, the hot takes bubble with who and what will have it worse: federal employees, American manufacturers, the global economy, global trade, education and public schools, teachers, free speech, women, the poor, public health, Palestinians and Gazans, disease and health research, blacks, Latinos and Hispanics, trans adults, trans youth, the (supposed) middle class, the rule of law, the disabled, the environment, food safety…is that enough? The firehose won’t stop pumping…

It has, though, for the millions that have tuned out. Election day viewership of news networks was down by a quarter from 2020, and some network ratings have cratered.

Every presidential campaign brings with it more noise than the last: more advertising, more accusations, more intrusions into non-political spaces, and more disruption of our lives. More fucking useless polls.

When the news broke at about 5:30 a.m. on Nov. 6 that the noise was not going to stop, that we would dance again with Trump for four years, the 48.2% of voters who pulled the lever for Harris went into mourning. We were told it would be close2, but no one really thought that Donald “Jan. 6th Convicted of 34 Felonies” Trump would get re-elected. And we were really wrong.

The despair is thick. Many people are feeling low, depressed, angry, and resigned.

They’re grieving. It’s a different kind of disenfranchised grief, because it’s not a tangible item that we lost. And, it’s a loss that is only felt by 48.2% of people who bothered to vote; after all, there were millions more who wanted Trump to win and are ecstatic at the prospects of him retaking the White House.

This concept of election grief is one we’re going to examine over the coming weeks leading up to the inauguration. We’re going to hear from voices of people experiencing this post-election grief and how they might move on in their grief journey following the 2024 election.

The anti-Trump segment of the population3 sees loss, and not just as news on a screen. Some see it as a loss of the “life, liberty and pursuit of happiness” that our founders imbued upon them. Others see it as a loss of identity; a direct threat to who they are and how they’re living. Or where they are living, even if it wasn’t their choice to live there4. Many woman look at it as an affront against their rights, freedoms and ability to choose what is best for their lives.

More, it’s a feeling of a loss of the future. No one knows what a Harris administration would have entailed, but we have experienced life under rePresident Trump and — for many — it wasn’t so great.5

It’s not a new concept. Pauline Boss, a professor emeritus at the University of Minnesota and practicing psychotherapist, described the feeling as ambiguous loss when discussing wives of soldiers who had gone MIA during the Vietnam War. She gave an interview to Scientific American recently where she explained what we’re all feeling and why some doubt that election grief is real:

A lack of proof—a lack of certainty that you have lost something, because you can’t see it. If someone died, you can see the body or the ashes; you can see the death certificate. There’s something official that says this person you loved and were attached to is now gone, and while that is very sad, you at least have certainty.
With a more abstract kind of loss, there is no proof that you have lost trust in the world except your perception. And if you perceive it to be true, it is true for you—that you’re feeling helpless or powerless that things didn’t go your way.

She is a proponent of normalizing the anger and acceptance of this ambiguity as a way to move on because it is a normal reaction to the outcome you either didn’t expect or didn’t want.

Friend of Dirt Nap Scott Janssen is there too. Scott, who contributed to our features on men and grief (parts one and two) and dying angry, is a social worker in North Carolina. I asked him about why the grief is so widespread this time around. He offered the following. I’ll forewarn you; this is not a short reflection but it goes to the big tent of the 48.2% that were let down earlier this month. I broke it out into three parts.

***

“It’s as much about what just happened as it is about what lies ahead.”

Every therapist I know is very tuned into the vortex of grief and distress that is now spinning in the wake of the election.

In fact, the National Association of Social Workers recently held a conference call to discuss helping clients struggling with “post-election stress.” That’s an unusual move and suggests this is a big issue on their radar. They also sent members an online resource called a “Coping with Election Stress Toolkit” filled with resources we can use to support clients, and ourselves. Here’s a link for one of the articles in the toolkit that offers “expert advice for coping with election stress.” And here’s another one with a list of coping tips.

I’ve never seen this intensity and complexity of grief after an election. It’s not just disappointment that a candidate lost; it’s grief combined with a deep, almost existential and moral pain. To understand what’s going on, we need to consider the unprecedented context. This is not a political statement, it’s an assessment of the facts to illuminate why this grief is as much about Donald Trump winning as it is about Kamala Harris losing. It’s as much about what just happened as it is about what lies ahead.

Millions of American chose to return Donald Trump to power even though he was impeached twice, incited violence to overthrow a free and fair election while attempting to illegally cling to power. He is a convicted felon who stole and tried to conceal classified documents, was convicted of business fraud, and adjudicated liable in civil court for sexual abuse which the judge made clear would have been called rape in criminal court. Let that sink in: we knowingly elected a rapist.

We know about Trump’s pathological lying, bullying, and self-inflated bragging, it’s endless. As someone who has worked with hundreds of people who have been traumatized, I can say emphatically what millions already know: Donald Trump is the textbook example of a criminal predator.

Based on what I’m seeing in communication with other psychotherapists, articles, and reports of people who backed Harris, the grief is often complicated by what bereavement counselors call a shattering of the “assumptive world,” trauma, moral injury and/or a sense of having been betrayed.

I’ve never seen this intensity and complexity of grief after an election. It’s not just disappointment that a candidate lost; it’s grief combined with a deep, almost existential and moral pain.

As an enthusiastic Harris fan, I’m feeling grief, disorientation and anger. My commentary will reflect this. This likely impedes my objectivity but it will give readers a window into the perspective of someone who is grieving.

The grief I’m seeing is multilayered. Various losses are entangled. The loss of the future we envisioned and many expected. Loss of trust in our fellow citizens who voted for Trump seemingly without regard to our democracy or values like respect for diversity, fairness, nonviolence, and the wellbeing of our most vulnerable citizens. Loss of a story we were telling ourselves about who we are as a country and where we are going. Those stories are gone.

I’ve talked with people who have expressed embarrassment or shame at being American. Several described it as “feeling dirty.” So, there’s grief at a perceived loss of America’s moral standing in the world, of no longer being seen as a humane and responsible world leader.

There’s grief over the loss of a sense of safety, the threat that Trump signifies for citizens of color, those in the LGBTQ community, women, progressives like me who he says are the “enemy within”. A loss of safety that goes with no longer believing our leaders can be relied on to prioritize basic commitments to our safety and wellbeing.

Many are grieving what they see as a renunciation of our commitment to democracy itself. For context, many of us have been seeing this loss of commitment for years. The Supreme Court, for example, gutting of the Voting Rights Act, voter suppression and intimidation, gerrymandering, voter ID laws intended to create barriers to voting, lies about stolen elections undermining trust in our institutions. This election comes in that larger context and signals to many who are grieving that the loss of protections for democracy, or the loss of democracy itself, is accelerating.

It’s not just Democrats who are grieving. Many are lifelong Republicans who voted for Harris and are aghast that their party has been hijacked by a man who General Kelley explicitly warned is the dictionary definition of a “fascist;” folks in the mold of Bob Dole, Ronald Reagan, John McCain. Many are grappling with grief at the loss of a party that they once believed had integrity, moral conviction, and a willingness to work together for the common good, but no longer does.

Grief for the loss of common ground on which to come together without all the shouting and lies. Sadness and despair that we are so divided. That truth no longer seems to matter.

Maybe you hear my anger? If so, under anger is fear for the people I foresee will be hurt and the loss of regard for basic kindness; under the fear is sadness and a sense of hopelessness that the divisions are becoming so calcified that some are calling for violence. Under hopelessness is grief for a world I remember in which I had conservative friends whose perspective and leaders I trusted. Now we’ve turned politics into a win at all costs bloodsport where we call the other side an enemy within.

It’s grief for loss upon loss upon loss.

What about the grief of parents who worry about the world in which their kids are growing up? Who want action on gun violence and climate protection and women’s health who grieve that these important priorities have suddenly been shunted aside. In fact, they will be under further assault. We could have done something about assault weapons and climate change, but now all we will get are locks on school doors and payouts to oil companies.

Think about Trump's toxic, violent version of masculinity and the poison he is spreading to children. You might be grieving the kind of adult your child might become if constantly exposed to abusive bullies like Trump. Or the dangers they will face in a culture where certain people and groups are attacked, and others protected from the consequences of their actions. Will my children have healthcare? Will Putin use tactical nuclear weapons in Ukraine now that his puppet is back? What if my grandchild is gay or marries someone who is Muslim?

It’s also important to keep in mind that this is not the kind of grief in which a painful event happens, someone dies, and you begin to absorb this event and grieve over time. This painful event signals that we have much more pain ahead, so there’s a kind of anticipatory grief as we envision the nightmare ahead.

The assumptive world is the interior mental, ethical, and spiritual framework within which we construct meaning, build relationships, and develop a sense of identity. It undergirds the ways we see ourselves and others, the core beliefs and values that make us, well, us. It helps us interpret the past and anticipate the future. We may face change, loss, and adversity, but the assumptive world contains what we think of as unchanging reference points that help us navigate any challenges. Basically, it’s our blueprint about who we are, where we belong, and how the world works. Grief and trauma often rock this framework off its hinges.

Suddenly, the future one expected is jarred or appears to vanish. The world feels unfamiliar. The systems, norms, and/or institutions we assumed would support and protect us may falter or come under threat. People we trusted to lead us through troubled times may appear unworthy of, or betray, that trust. Assumptions about values and priorities we thought we shared with others may rupture, exposing or intensifying deep conflicts. Sound familiar?

Grief & Trauma

Let’s touch on the topic of post-traumatic stress. Statistically, if you put 25 people in a room, you’d likely have two with PTSD. It’s common and, likely, underdiagnosed. Given that PTSD can include intrusive memories, distressing emotions, hyper-reactivity, anxiety, isolation and fear, you can see how it can negatively impact one’s grief.

It doesn’t take a clinical social worker to see how Trump’s pattern of intimidation, gaslighting and verbal abuse, not to mention the pack-like victim-blaming of many of his followers, can be distressing. Imagine if you had a history of trauma and had to endure Trump’s inescapable presence and the constant shouting of his anger-addicted allies these last years. Imagine if you were traumatized by a perpetrator that looked and sounded like him.

Imagine having survived chronic verbal abuse, sexual or racial violence, and having to see Trump’s face, hear his belittling rants, every damn day. Imagine what it would be like as he repeatedly gaslights those who are targets of his aggression then galvanizes followers to vilify and pile on anyone who defends themselves.

Survivors of sexual violence and/or domestic abuse, Black patients traumatized by race-based violence or abuse. I bring this up because there is a lot of trauma associated with Trump and the threat he poses. The guy is a walking trauma reminder. Grief and PTSD often entangle. Add them together with the return of, as I said, a textbook criminal predator and it’s easy to see why some feel like they are going over the edge right now, dreading inauguration day with a sense of dread and foreboding like it’s the Apocalypse.

That’s another reason this grief is so intense for some. He was thrown out in 2020, literally pushed out the door as he was clawing to stay in. We could have been done with him. Now, to those who are traumatized, Trump supporters are saying, “The abuser is back and guess what? Your own friends and neighbors intentionally opened the door for him.”

From what I’ve seen, the inescapable presence of Trump can, cumulatively, be traumatizing by itself. We know that chronic secondary exposure over time can create what is called vicarious or secondary trauma – witnessing or hearing about others being abused, injured, or victimized. I think there are people out there who have been traumatized by his repeated, inescapable abuse. That’s my clinical opinion based on observation, though some trauma counselors would disagree.

Betryal

For readers who think they are losing it, or who are doing a number on themselves – “What’s wrong with me, why can’t I stop crying, why can’t I concentrate?” – the last nine years have been an emotional vortex. Be gentle with yourself. You’re not going nuts. You’re hurting because you care. Caring is a strength. We are in this together.

Moral distress and moral injury also intersect with this grief. Moral injury in its most conventional definition occurs when we commit, or witness our friends or leaders commit, or when we fail to stop, actions that violate our conscience. I want to focus on a different take on moral injury though by a psychiatrist named Jonathan Shay. He sees moral injury as the pain and psychological wounding that occurs when people in positions of responsibility betray our trust by failing to protect or by violating our sense of “what's right." He talks about this betrayal potentially leading to a loss of a belief that people are basically good, isolation, distrust, anger, shame, anxiety and depression.

Let me give an example of how this kind of betrayal works. One of the reasons I was so confident that Harris would win was that I assumed most of my fellow citizens were decent and good. Harris’ message filled me with hope and a sense that we really could work together, start putting the divisiveness behind us. On some level, I assumed this was shared by a majority of voters as well, that they would not vote for someone as indecent and immoral as Trump. Who would vote for a guy who is going around making these incoherent rants and calling it “the weave” while pretending to give oral sex to microphones. How could a decent, moral person vote for this guy?

I had faith that decency would win. It did not. I’m not saying Trump voters are at core indecent human beings, but that the act of voting for him is an act of indecency. I have lost whatever belief I had that we are a moral nation. I no longer expect decency or trust the collective judgment of Americans. That may sound extreme, and who knows how enduring it will be, but that’s what I’m hearing from some others who are grieving as well.

Be gentle with yourself. You’re not going nuts. You’re hurting because you care. Caring is a strength. We are in this together.

Another thing to consider is that election-related grief may occur within the context of pre-existing grief. What if your partner recently died and he’d been the person you leaned on whenever the shit hit the fan? Now, you are grieving his loss while facing the frightening uncertainty of another Trump reign without his support. You did something recently on grief related to climate change. Well, that grief is going to get worse since Trump will likely gut the EPA, kill green energy initiatives, and let Big Oil run roughshod on our public lands. You also did something on grief during the holidays and, well, they are around the bend. What if you’re feeling grief at the holiday and suddenly you must deal with relatives who are transparently happy that Trump won? One grief feeds the other and it’s a perfect storm.

Many people who are grieving saw those dynamic rallies with Kamala Harris. The positive energy and confidence that we can all work together to build a more inclusive, multicultural democracy where everyone matters. They watched Trump’s flat, rambling grievance-filled rallies where he calls America and Americans garbage and spits out hate and threats of vengeance. Those are two very different visions. For those of us who are grieving, one is about hope, the other about hatred.

Then you find most voters prefer hatred and it hits you; this country is not what you thought it was. That’s what makes this election different. And it didn’t have to be this way; that’s why the grief is so complex.

Final Thoughts on Finality

“Victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan.”

— John F. Kennedy