At 4:30 a.m., reality sinks in — Donald Trump is re-elected. For women everywhere, it’s a harsh reminder that the fight for our rights is far from over. 

It’s 3:36 a.m. and I am staring at it. The big blue and red numbers filling the screen, stubborn and unchanging. I can’t say it out loud. “224 to 267,” I think, over and over again as if repeating them will somehow make them change.  

The quietness of my apartment echoes through my ringing ears, the numbers on the screen only getting bigger and bigger. I grip the sides of the desk the glaring screen sits on, haunting me as I shut my eyes trying to make them disappear. I feel powerless, stranded in the quiet of my apartment. Outside, the world is quiet too, as if it’s also holding its breath. 

 I can’t admit this feeling to myself because if I do, I admit defeat. There is nothing I can do at this point – I voted. I think of my friends, my family — generations of women who voted to protect the rights of other young women. The reality of this number is not just of a new presidency, it’s that the long debated and protected rights I thought were safe, are now threatened. 

Fighting the urge to scream and cry, I crawl back into bed. How am I supposed to sleep after this? I close my eyes but the reality is sinking in, slow and heavy. My brain becomes a cesspool of racing thoughts, each one darker than the last. 

Images of women flash behind my eyelids — personal stories of women fighting for their rights, protesting in the streets to gain the respect that men have always had. I remember a story my grandmother once told me, about how she had joined a local women’s rights group in the 70s. My grandfather didn’t approve; he thought it was foolish of her. So, when she’d try to host meetings at their home, he would lock her and the other members outside, no matter the weather. 

Thinking of her and the other women in my family, I feel the weight of this election pressing down even harder. It’s as if everything she’s fought for is slipping backwards. What does this mean for my future? For the future of my children? 

My mind keeps darting. Surely nothing has changed within the last hour of me lying here. I get up out of my very girly, very feminine bed, a place that once felt safe — and I walk over to my phone. I click the refresh button and there it is, those bright, glaring numbers again. 224 Kamala to 277 Trump. 

“Donald Trump wins.”

The words feel cold and final. I’m sure if someone were close enough, they could hear the sound of my heartbreak. I can’t fathom this feeling. I lie down on my bed, clutching the blanket to my face and I just cry. Feeling each tear carrying the weight of a thousand fears: for myself, for the women who came before me and for the girls who will grow up under his shadow. 

Unable to move, my thoughts run laps around my brain. I’m not ready to face a world where I’m seen as less. I want my rights to be respected. I want women to feel autonomous. The ability to live as we choose, to speak as we want, to decide what’s best for our health and future. 

No matter what I say, this election is final. Donald Trump is the President of the United States, again. Only this time, it feels like more than just a political loss — but a personal one. 

This is just another battle in a long, ongoing fight for equality, for respect, for our rights. Women will exist. We will exist in the space men have created for us, but we will fight back for the women that came before us, the women we surround ourselves with and the women that will come after us. I guess the fight for equality is a never-ending spiral, but at least I’m able to do it with the strongest women I know. 

Header photo shows the Women’s March on Washington on January 27, 2017, only days after Donald Trump’s inauguration. Photo taken by Mobilus in Mobili is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0