Navigating Hope and Healing: How Kamala Harris' Presidential Run Resurfaced My Infertility Trauma and Reignited My Resilience
When Kamala Harris officially announced her candidature for the U.S. presidential election, I felt triggered. It was just days after President Biden’s withdrawal from the upcoming race, when roughly half the country was breathing a collective sigh of relief and starting to actualize thoughts of a brighter future, and I was grappling with my PTSD.
It’s not that I wasn’t thrilled over the possibility of this new era of leadership, thought improbable for so long. In fact, I was elated. A Harris administration could mean winding the clocks up to current day on women’s health and reproductive rights, bringing us out of the Dark Ages we’ve been suffering through since Roe v. Wade was overturned (among other harmful legislations). Harris as president could mean lowering the staggering infant and maternal mortality rates in the U.S., which continue to far exceed other high-income nations, and bridge the gap on inequities in health care that continue to cause Black women to be the group most likely to die from pregnancy or childbirth.
Harris policies could also safeguard essential Reproductive Assistance Treatments (ARTs), like IVF and IUI, for families struggling to start their family. Families like mine. As a survivor of a years-long battle with infertility, pregnancy loss, and unsuccessful IVF cycles, my road to motherhood was anything but easy. And I’m forever grateful for the availability of care that brought me through to the other side.
But several years, hundreds of injections, thousands of pills, two cesarean deliveries, and three beautiful children later, the experience still lurks in my bones, colors my perspective, and reveals itself in unexpected ways. Hence, being triggered by Kamala.
The knee-jerk reaction that my post traumatic mind still concocts years after my struggles with infertility is that hope is inexplicably tethered to worry. You cannot wish for the best possible outcome without simultaneously planning for the worst.
After years of relentless angst over test results, outcomes, heartbeats, growth rates, and other metrics that would literally make or break me at any given moment, my brain has become conditioned to follow every “Yes!” with a resounding “But…”
Vice Presidential candidate Tim Walz got it right when describing the crushing anxiety of waiting for a phone call from the clinic. Because it could be the best news of your life. And… it could be the worst.
So when the prospect of our first woman President was suddenly a reality, it sent me spiraling. Every twinge of excitement and uptick in the polls was quickly followed by a rush to reality check. Even Harris’ triumphant performance at the Presidential Debate left me more cautious than cautiously optimistic.
All in all, these past few months have had traces of those tough years. Feeling like you’re living precariously among waves, cresting the frothy highs before tumbling into the depths of the lows.
My automatic brain block has come to provide more harm than good. It is a safeguard. A coping mechanism. A level of damage control. But it is also exhausting.
So as we inch closer to the election and I’ve put this all down on paper, I’m realizing I would like it to become an exercise in healing instead. I resolve to flip the script and change the narrative in my head. Attempt to untangle hope from the mess of emotions and just let it be free. Because the stakes are so high.
I, like so many, have a vested interest in this election, and pray for a brighter future for my hard earned family. I want the padlock on my daughters’ freedoms to become undone, and a strong woman leader for my son to look up to and respect. I will vote and do my part to make this our new reality, regardless of the fear that may pop up over possible outcomes.
Because at the end of the day, what if she’s not elected? But then again, what if she is? Either way, we’ve got work to do.