A right way through

I remember the moment I actually freaked out.

Not even because of the election itself—but because of how shocked people were after.

Like… what do you mean you didn’t see this coming?

That was the part that got me.

Because I think I might have been in denial too, just in a different way. Not fully, but enough to where I still believed people were generally seeing the same reality I was seeing.

They weren’t.

I grew up in a mix of environments. Hispanic household, American guardian, different class dynamics, different levels of education around me. I was constantly watching how people could experience the same thing and walk away with completely different understandings of what just happened.

Even people who considered themselves “aware” or “liberal”—there was still this… confusion underneath. Not about opinions, but about reality itself. Like we weren’t even arguing the same thing.

That’s what started to click for me.

People kept acting like this came out of nowhere.

But it didn’t.

There are parts of this country where history never resolved. Where identity is still tied to something unfinished. You can see it, hear it, feel it. And somehow people were still surprised.

That disconnect was wild to me.

What really messed with me though was watching people who were the most vulnerable… support something that was actively working against them.

And it wasn’t because they were dumb.

It was because they didn’t fully understand what they were hearing or because they thought, that’s not about me.

But it was.

There was this gap—like a language gap almost—between what was being said and how it was being received.

And I didn’t know how to bridge it.

Everyone keeps focusing on the loudest person in the room.

But that’s not how anything works.

We all know that.

In any company, the person at the top isn’t the one doing all the thinking. They’re the face. There are people behind that shaping strategy, messaging, direction.

So why do we ignore that when it comes to politics?

Why do we act like everything starts and ends with one person?

And then there’s this whole idea of overwhelm.

People say, oh, it’s strategic—flood people with chaos so they don’t know where to focus.

Okay… but who built that strategy?

Why do we repeat that idea without ever actually breaking it down for people?

Why aren’t we teaching people how to recognize when they’re being manipulated in real time?

That’s when I realized the real issue isn’t just political.

It’s communication.

There’s a huge gap between people who understand what’s happening and people who are living in it without the tools to make sense of it.

And instead of closing that gap, we just assume people should already get it.

And if they don’t, we write them off.

But that’s not reality.

Reality is people are navigating stress, survival, culture, identity—all at the same time.

You can’t expect someone to interpret information the same way you do if they’ve never been given the same context.

That’s when I figured out where I fit.

I’m not meant to be in crisis work.

As much as a part of me feels pulled to that, I know what it costs. I need stability. I can’t live in constant emergency.

So I had to be honest with myself.

My role is upstream.

Communication. Translation. Helping people understand what’s happening before it gets to that point.

I move through a lot of different spaces; different ages, different backgrounds, different education levels.

And I’ve seen it over and over—there is almost always some kind of common ground.

But you have to know how to find it.

And you have to actually care about finding it.

Most people want the same basic things.

Safety. Stability. A decent life.

But we’re speaking completely different languages about how to get there and until that changes, we’re going to keep looping the same situation over and over again.

This isn’t even about being right.

It’s about being understood.

And if people can’t understand what’s happening, they can’t respond to it.

That’s the gap.

And that’s the work.