I hate that I hate.

I hate that the lessons I learned from Gordon, Luis, Maria, Bob, Kermit and Mr. Rogers are weapons used against me to call me a woke, weak, overly empathetic, libtard.

I hate that what used to be an enjoyable space for sharing peak experiences and catching up with cousins became a place where I see the ugliest parts of humanity.

I hate that walks through the town to enjoy my neighbor's gardens and landscapes are now stomach-churning encounters with "F*ck Biden" and "F*uck Your Feelings" flags.

I hate that golf outings, social gatherings, and family dinners, where laughter and ease should abound, are now filled with conversational landmines that we all avoid to keep the peace.

I hate that I have been raised to have empathy, extend grace, and consider perspectives while the leader of our country is praised for racism, name-calling, belittling, and betrayal.

I hate that words pour out of me, propelling me to write and get the big feelings out, knowing that I risk relationships that hang in the balance of this maga movement.

I hate that I hate.