Regret and Reflection After Voting for Trump
I am a Chinese American woman and the daughter of immigrants. In the 2016 presidential election, I cast my vote for Donald Trump—a decision that, in hindsight, fills me with deep regret and a sense of personal betrayal. I remember leaving the polling place overwhelmed by emotion, and later, as the victory results came in, a tightness in my chest and a storm of conflicting feelings. In that very moment, I detested my choice, even though I hadn’t yet fully understood how wrong it truly was meant to be.
My upbringing was steeped in a blend of sacred and secular influences. In my church, patriotic symbols and practices filled the space. The American flag was ever-present, uplifting hymns intertwined faith with national devotion, and even the children recited pledges that honored both God and country. Meanwhile, my public school mingled religious activities—such as prayer before sports events—with a clear message that reinforced a narrow sense of what it meant to belong. In these environments, ideas about Christianity and political identity were so seamlessly intertwined that one came to assume a natural alignment between faith and conservative ideology.
Even before the election, I found myself caught between competing impulses. On one hand, I longed to fully belong—to feel loved, accepted, and viewed as “good” by the standards set by my community. On the other, I struggled with the sense of being different because of my Chinese heritage in a predominantly white, churched town. This internal conflict was reinforced by early memories of feeling “othered,” and later by the subtle pressures to shed parts of my cultural identity in order to fit into a group that prized whiteness and conformity.
In the months leading up to the election, influential members of the church and my adopted family within the community frequently discussed politics. Their views, presented with a mix of pastoral care and assertive conviction, made it seem as though political opinion was a litmus test for moral worth. I listened, weighed the message, and ultimately determined that voting for the choice labeled as “the lesser of two evils” would secure the acceptance I so desperately craved.
My first foray into presidential voting came at the age of 21, during a time when I prided myself on living a morally upright life while deliberately remaining detached from the messy realm of politics. I compartmentalized my civic duty from my personal beliefs by casting Trump as merely a manageable alternative to what I perceived as even less acceptable options. However, the act of voting turned out to be far more defining than I ever expected.
Shortly after the election, the fragile illusion of belonging I had built began to crumble. The quiet acceptance I had enjoyed was replaced by stark reminders of racism and exclusion. Friends and acquaintances, once careful with their words, started voicing long-held prejudices openly. I realized that in my effort to be embraced by a dominant white culture—one that valued conformity above all—I had denied a part of myself. I had aligned with ideologies that promised love and security, all while distancing myself from the very elements of my identity that made me unique.
Looking back, I see that my vote was less an endorsement of a political platform and more a desperate bid to remain loved and socially validated by the institutions I trusted. That vote wasn’t about policy or conviction—it was about an ingrained desire to be part of a group that defined goodness by its adherence to a narrow set of cultural norms.
Today, I acknowledge my mistake and the toll it has taken on my sense of self. I now understand that true belonging comes not from compromising one’s identity but from embracing every facet of who we are. My regret is not noble; it is a painful lesson in the dangers of aligning with power for the sake of acceptance. Moving forward, I am committed to reclaiming my heritage, affirming the diverse parts of my identity, and rejecting the seductive narratives that once led me astray.
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