trauma

I almost never discuss politics on this blog. I usually try to keep my posts entertaining and informative—something you can read with your morning coffee without feeling like you’ve just stepped into a shouting match on cable news. But there comes a point when you can’t stay quiet. There comes a time when you have to speak up. To say something.

I know some people will disagree with me, and that’s fine. You do you. But with the recent decline in our society, I just can’t keep writing as though nothing horrific is happening in the U.S. today. I promise we’ll return to our usual programming soon. For now, though, I need to get this out.

What I believed

I used to carry around this almost childlike faith that everyone was inherently good. That if someone was cruel, it was just a matter of time before they softened, that empathy and patience could melt even the iciest heart.

That belief made the world feel less threatening, less jagged. But I don’t believe it anymore. And I hate that I don’t.

The Personal Cracks in the Foundation

On a personal level, the shift started quietly. I watched people I cared about repeat the same harmful choices, no matter how many chances they got. Apologies flowed, but the actions never changed. And I finally had to admit: some people don’t want to change. Some people thrive on their cruelty—it’s not a mask, it’s their way of operating.

That was hard enough to swallow in my own little corner of life. But then I looked at the bigger picture—what’s happening in our country right now—and the truth hit even harder.

Cruelty in Plain Sight

Look around. Politicians don’t even bother hiding the meanness anymore. They wear it like a badge of honor.

Take the Republicans in Congress who are dead set on slashing Social Security and Medicare—lifelines for seniors and disabled folks—while shoveling tax breaks to billionaires who will never feel hunger pangs or skip a prescription because of cost.

Or Governor Greg Abbott in Texas, who has spent years pouring energy into making life miserable for LGBTQ+ kids and their families, even directing state agencies to investigate parents for child abuse if they support their trans children. That’s not about “protecting families.” That’s cruelty as policy.

Or look at Florida under Ron DeSantis—book bans in schools, the “Don’t Say Gay” law that literally erases queer kids and teachers, stripping away Black history from curriculums. That’s not ignorance. That’s deliberate.

And then there’s Donald Trump, who isn’t just one man but the leader of a movement built on scapegoating immigrants, demonizing the press, and pushing policies that punch down on the most vulnerable while handing the rich even more.

These aren’t isolated slips of judgment. These are repeated choices. And no amount of patience is going to suddenly flip the switch and turn those choices into kindness.

Why “They’ll Change” Is Dangerous

For years, we kept saying, “They’ll come around. Give it time. They’ll see the harm they’re doing.” But meanwhile, what happened? Housing became a luxury. Healthcare turned into a privilege. College costs skyrocketed. Climate change denial stalled real action while the planet burns.

Believing “everyone will change eventually” let us keep excusing and normalizing cruelty. And while we waited, the damage multiplied.

The Hard Truth

I’ve had to face it: some people will never change, because cruelty benefits them. It keeps them powerful, keeps them rich, keeps them in control. And they’re not giving that up.

That’s not a comfortable truth for someone who once believed kindness was contagious. But comfort doesn’t protect anyone. Honesty does.

Where I Stand Now

These days, I’ve shifted. I still believe in kindness—but I don’t waste it on those who weaponize it. I pay attention to actions, not lip service.

And while I can’t cling to the fantasy that everyone is redeemable, I do believe in the people who keep choosing to care. The ones who fight for healthcare access, who defend queer kids, who push back against policies that steal from the poor to give to the rich. That’s where hope lives now.

A Harder, Truer Kind of Hope

I wish I still believed everyone could change. I really do. But maybe the sturdier belief is this: change only comes from those who are willing to do the work.

And in a time when cruelty is being baked into laws and policies, the rest of us can’t afford to wait for hearts to magically soften. We have to create kindness ourselves, in our neighborhoods, in our votes, in our daily actions.

That’s not as comforting as the old belief. But it feels real. And right now, real is what we need.