Big Thoughts on the Big Thing | #3 Danielle Doepke

'I want to be a soft, empathetic person, but I also want to set the world on fire.'

In light of the recent presidential election, and the imminent inauguration of Donald Trump as the 47th President of the United States, I asked a selection of women to write a piece for Anchor Baby that in some way illustrated their feelings about, reaction to or relationship with the results. This is the third installment in that series, in which Danielle Doepke writes about the difficulties of loving people she no longer recognizes.

Danielle is a photographer, Midwest homebody and dog enthusiast based in Fort Wayne. You can check out her work on her website at danielledoepke.com. (Oh, and it’s “dep-key”.)

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Sean woke me up around six. I first felt his hand slowly rubbing my back, then he wrapped his arms around me and softly said, “Hey, I don’t want this to ruin your morning and day, but he won. They called it early this morning, and he won.” It took me a moment in my half-asleep state to realize what he was saying. Once it clicked, my mind started racing. 

That’s not possible. How can they call it so soon? It’s not possible, there have to be more votes to count. I thought it would take longer to find out. Impossible. What can they do? What can we do? What can I do? This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. 

Suddenly, I felt the weight of his arms around me and a tightness in my chest. I wriggled out from his embrace, overwhelmed and suffocated by the thought of four more years, and cried “this can’t be true,” while pressing the palms of my hands on to my closed eyes. It wasn’t long before he started pulling me back into him and guided my head to his chest, saying over and over that it was going to be okay. I know he was just trying to say anything to calm me down, but I couldn’t stop crying.

It’s not going to be okay. People are going to die. People are going to die. Women are going to die. Families separated. How did this happen? This isn’t possible. I can’t wake up, this is not a dream. How is this possible?

My body heaved with sobs as panic fully set in, and I struggled to catch my breath. Hyperventilating, thoughts and heart racing – it was a panic attack. “You have to take slow, deep breaths,” he said. “In and out, slow, deep breaths.” I’d be able to control my breath for a moment, but then an image of the future or the past would flash across my mind and send me right back to shallow, rapid gasps for air. After a while, the crying stopped and a pit in my stomach started to form. Dread.

My parents both voted for Trump in 2016 and 2020, and although I had deeply hoped that they wouldn’t, they voted for him again in 2024. The last conversation I had with my Dad was in early October.