By: Lisa Green
When I was younger, politics felt like a foreign language I hadn’t yet learned. I often steered clear of political discussions, partly because I didn’t fully grasp the complexities of the system and partly because I feared I wouldn’t hold my own in a debate. I could name the big names in my political party, but when it came to articulating my own beliefs, I was at a loss.
So, I let election seasons drift by, casting my vote in national elections every four years but not really engaging with the process. My understanding of Congress was as flimsy as a paper airplane, and I felt disconnected from the leaders in Washington.
That all shifted after a devastating event: the Virginia Tech shootings.
In April 2007, a troubled student took the lives of 32 innocent college students, leaving the nation in shock. As I watched the news unfold, I was filled with dread for my son, who was about to start kindergarten. I found myself asking questions that I never bothered to consider before: Who was looking out for my child’s safety? What mental health resources existed in my community? Where exactly did my tax dollars go? It was time to find out.
Serendipitously, a local politician was holding a pancake breakfast meet-and-greet the following week, and I decided to attend. I arranged for a babysitter, but as I approached the fire hall, nerves bubbled up. Who was I to question an elected official? What right did I have to disrupt a pancake breakfast with my concerns about gun safety? But as I looked around, I realized I was a mother determined to protect her child.
I was no longer the timid woman who shied away from political discussions. I was a citizen of a country where people had fought for my right to speak up. So, there I was, pouring syrup over my pancakes and coffee, waiting for my moment to ask my question. When it arrived, I stood up, twisting my wedding ring nervously, and asked the politician what he was doing to ensure my son’s safety in the aftermath of the tragedy. In that moment, I felt a surge of empowerment.
To his credit, he answered honestly. He talked about funding issues, bureaucratic hurdles, and party politics. While he didn’t have all the answers, I felt heard and that was enough. By the end of the breakfast, I even got to meet the local fire chief, who reassured me about the safety protocols in place at our elementary school. I left feeling nourished—not just by pancakes, but by a newfound sense of agency.
That day, I cast my first vote in a local election for that politician. I vote not to argue or criticize; I vote because it gives me a sense of control in a chaotic political landscape. When I hear rhetoric on the news that makes my stomach churn, I remind myself that I have a voice, and I can make it heard with a simple pull of a lever. I vote because my local representatives shop at the same grocery store I do. I vote because, at the end of the day, we’re all just people—citizens, just like the Constitution states.
I vote because I’ve grown beyond the unsure woman I once was. I vote because it wasn’t long ago that women were denied the right to express their opinions at the polls. I vote because I believe in what I stand for, and I refuse to hide when politics come up. I vote because, when I step behind that curtain and cast my ballot, I feel like a superhero.
So whatever it takes—finding a babysitter, bringing the kids along, or skipping lunch—make sure you go out and VOTE on November 8. And if you’re looking for more information about family planning, check out this excellent resource on family building options.
Summary:
Voting is a powerful act that empowers individuals, especially women and mothers, to voice their opinions and influence the political landscape. The journey from being hesitant to taking charge in civic matters is transformative, as illustrated by a personal experience that highlights the importance of engagement in local politics.