it starts with me

Recently, I wrote a letter in support of a political candidate, sharing in it his stand on three issues and a few values that are important to me. I did not speak poorly of his opponent, and although I knew better of it, a few days after the letter was published, I opened up social media and read the comments.

Big mistake!

What followed was not constructive dialogue or thoughtful engagement - it was harsh, sharp, and, frankly, hurtful. The words were aimed not only at the candidate, but also at me, and they stung.

In that moment, I felt my defenses rise. I wanted to react. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to deliver the response of a lifetime.

There’s something about feeling misunderstood or judged that pushes us to want to strike back, isn’t there? It’s a human impulse. No good would come from feeding into the anger. So, I sat with the discomfort.

Because as tempting as it was - and it was - it starts with me.

The comments that I read were not just about my political views, they were about me as a person. That’s the part that cuts the deepest.

When people forget that there’s a human being behind the screen—someone with feelings, with hopes, with a desire to connect - talk can get ugly.

I was hurt.

And here’s the thing about being hurt - it makes you feel small. It makes you question, for a moment, why you ever stepped into the arena at all.

But then I remembered something that I often write about: being vulnerable isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength.

It’s in those moments when we feel hurt, when we feel exposed, that we can grow the most.

Vulnerability is what connects us as human beings. It’s how we relate to one another. And in this space of discomfort, there’s an opportunity to heal—not just ourselves, but maybe even our communities.

So I stepped back and attempted to consider how my letter might have offended readers; why my views caused such a visceral reaction. And ultimately, I thought about the bigger picture.

This isn’t just about me, or the comments, or the candidate I support. This is about all of us.

We’ve built these walls, these echo chambers, where we surround ourselves only with people who think like us, act like us, vote like us. And while that feels safe, it’s not helping us understand each other. It’s not helping us bridge the divide.

I realized, in that moment, I had a choice. Because it starts with me.

What happened to the days when we could disagree but still sit down and share a meal together? When did it become a win at all costs? When did we stop listening to one another?

A friend of mine pointed to Donald Trump. And she is not wrong, he has stoked the fire. And yet, research shows that our lack of civility started way before Trump swapped careers from The Apprentice to politics.

Back in 1800, Thomas Jefferson ran against John Adams for president, and it got ugly. Jefferson’s team called Adams “a hideous hermaphroditical character.” Adams retaliated, calling Jefferson an atheist and seized on racist attitudes, dubbing him the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw.” Name-calling is not novel, but we have gotten better at amplifying it.

Another friend blamed social media, and she’s not wrong, either. In a survey conducted by the American Bar Association in 2023 regarding civility in the United States, 29% said social media is primarily responsible for eroding civility. Another 24% blamed the media. News sources are available 24/7, and we can effortlessly find the outlets with the voices that validate our way of thinking.

Still another friend spoke about the extreme polarization in our country and how our habits perpetuate this. She is right too. In a 2023 Pew Research Center survey, the majority of conservatives and liberals answered that most of their close friends share their political views. They even said that they would be distraught if an immediate family member married someone from an opposing party.

We have fallen into a black and white way of thinking where some of us even deem the opposing party as a threat to the nation’s well-being. It’s no wonder we can’t seem to find common ground.

But here’s the thing—I miss the common ground. Don’t you?

I miss the days when we could disagree and still find reasons to be together. Think about President Reagan and Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill. They couldn’t have been more different politically, but they had a friendship built on respect. At the end of the day, they could sit down, share a drink, and recognize each other’s humanity.

We want that time back - or at least I do.

And that is where vulnerability comes in.

Being vulnerable is about being open to other people and different points of view. It’s about acknowledging that we may not have all the answers and that another person’s experience - another person’s voice - has value. That is how we build bridges. That is how we move forward.

Utah Governor Spencer Cox, a Republican and Chair of the National Governors Association, is leading an effort he calls “Disagree Better”. We are going to disagree. That is human. We just need to learn how to disagree without being disagreeable.

Because at the end of the day, and at the end of this election, we are more than our political affiliations. We are more than red and blue.

We are neighbors.

We are teammates.

We are Americans.

We walk the same streets and share the same sidelines.

And we are accountable.

And if we want to create a community where we can enjoy a meal or a beer after the debate is over, we need to listen - even when it’s uncomfortable - “Disagree Better”, be respectful, and truly see the humanness in all of us.

And it starts with me.