When Donald Trump won the presidency for the second time, in November 2024, I grieved. I grieved because I believed that his re-election meant that white supremacy had prevailed. That transphobia and homophobia had prevailed. That Christian nationalism had prevailed. All these inhuman things. I use the word inhuman deliberately, because all these things are about dehumanizing people, taking away the humanity of another person. White supremacy denies full humanity to people of color. Transphobia and homophobia deny full humanity to people in the LGBT community. Christian nationalism denies full humanity to anyone who is not Christian (and in practice, that usually also means white and evangelical).

I know that there were many reasons people voted for Trump. I am not claiming that everyone who voted for Trump did so out of racism or hatred. I am not judging people for their vote. You voted the way you did because you thought it was the best choice of those available, given your understanding of the facts, and given your views on a variety of topics.

Nonetheless, when he won again, I grieved because I believed that we were heading into an era of white supremacy, transphobia, and Christian nationalism. I was not alone in fearing this.

And in that grief, I heard my own voice say, “That’s it. I’m done. No more writing. No more blogging. No more Biblia Luna.” That voice said, the world does not need one more straight white Christian guy’s voice right now.

After all, straight white Christian guys won. We won in November. We received affirmation that we still belong on top, running everything, keeping others in their proper place. And I wanted nothing, nothing to do with that. It made me sick to think about it. I decided to back off and make room for the voices we need to hear right now – the voices of women. The voices of people of color. The voices of Jews and Muslims and atheists. The voices of queer people. My voice is none of those things.

I didn’t know how long this moratorium would last. A few weeks? Four years? After a couple of months, I started to hear whispers that I should write again. I kept hearing whispers that I have something to say. That I should get back. That there’s something in me that wants to get out. That my words can be a blessing to others. I heard that from certain parts of myself, and I heard that from a few other people.

But these whispers were very, very hard to believe. I responded to the whispers like this: What right do I have to talk about anything right now? What right do have to talk about myself (because, let’s be honest, the only thing I ever talk about is myself) while so many people are suffering? Aren’t there already enough people like me out there spouting off nonsense?

And of course, there was another reason I couldn’t believe the voices: those whispers were not in a vacuum. There was another voice there as well, a voice that’s always there, always telling me that I have nothing to say that’s worth anything. He’s never far away.

So part of the reason I disappeared from writing for so long was grief over what I felt was coming in our country. And part of the reason was simple giving into the Dark voice that that always tells me how useless and worthless I am.

But there was also a third piece: I started to believe that I had to be something I’m not. I believed that I had to be a prophet, speaking out against injustice and inhumanity. I believed that I had to join the resistance.

A resistance has risen up against the second Trump administration. People who stand up and protest. People who write articles and blog posts about people who are suffering due to Trump’s policies and executive orders. People who put their careers and their safety on the line to speak the truth.

And I am scared to do that. I do not have thick enough skin for that. Hell, I’m even scared to publish this post, because I’m scared that someone reading it will be angry with me for not supporting Trump. Or for calling them racist (which I explicitly didn’t). I read too many comments on websites and social media – and I’m scared to deal with those comments.

And so for months I had this inner conflict with one part of me saying, “If you’re a writer, you should be writing about this and only about this,” and another part saying, “But I don’t want to write that – I don’t have the guts to write that,” and the prevailing part saying, “Fine, then I’m not a writer anymore.”

And you know what else? I’m just plain not good at it. I’m not good at being a prophet. That’s just not who I am. My writing isn’t like that. But that’s a story for the next post.

To be continued in a few days…