Patricia A. Nugent: Missing Who I Was

Another No Kings rally. Another Saturday spent demonstrating my ongoing commitment to resisting a tyrannical leader. 

Another Saturday when I was unable to participate in pursuits that would nourish me as a person, bring me joy, feed my soul with knowledge and inspiration. 

I do enjoy the camaraderie, and the solidarity helps tamp down my despair. The signs are clever and thought-provoking. But one caught me up short: I MISS THE PERSON I WAS BEFORE TRUMP. 

The rest of the rally became a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of myself I’ve lost over the last ten years. I told the sign-bearer of its impact on me. She said she’s been overwhelmed by the number of women who have approached her about it, the laments she’s heard. 

That evening, I posted this on social media, with a photo of the sign: 

This sign hit me hard today. I, too, miss who I was before…when I could watch the news, sleep at night, find time for creative expression. Feel unabashed joy. When I didn’t feel so angry and didn’t use the word “hate” so much. When I wasn’t frightened of what might happen next or what might become of my immigrant neighbors. Maybe you miss her, too.

In short order, close to 130 people reacted and 50 commented, confirming nostalgia for the people they were just a few years ago. Comments, primarily from women, were authentic and so very vulnerable, expressing despair, rage, fear, and resentment – for themselves, for their families, for their beloved country. They wrote of compounded grief, stress, and heartbreak; feeling denied peaceful “golden years” after a lifetime of activism; alienation from friends and family; fear of losing a hard-earned house. 

No longer feeling safe as a woman in the United States of America.

Some shared encouragement and determination, reminding us not to let him get to us, quoting Holocaust-survivor Victor Frankl, and comparing this nightmare to other deep losses, like divorce.

Men tended to assume the warrior persona or “chin up” approach: The antidote is action. Or I haven’t changed because Trump is an aberration. Women pushed back, suggesting those skating above it pay attention to how the women in their lives have been affected. 

I had unwittingly created a support group. A support group I myself needed to help me identify and mourn my own wounds and losses. I took stock.

• I miss trusting my government and mainstream news sources; believing that America is a righteous nation; that our flag stands for liberty and justice; that protests are safe to attend; that cops will protect me. 

• I miss believing that women are making progress toward equality; that there would be a female president in my lifetime; that women would stand together against oppression of their sisters; that my right to vote and bodily autonomy were immutable. 

• I miss believing that all Christians follow Christ’s teachings; that Nazis were a once-in-a-lifetime anomaly; that pedophilia and sex-trafficking are unequivocably abhorrent, subject to severe punishment; that those I love would see things this way, too. 

• I miss trusting our air, water, and food supplies; miss having healthy glucose, blood pressure and cholesterol levels, due to stress-induced cortisol; miss sound sleep without waking at 3am steeped in anxiety.  

• I miss feeling hopeful; miss relaxing for fear of losing ground in this battle for our souls; miss the notion of agreeable disagreement.  

• I miss my best friend since 9^th grade and a favorite cousin who crossed over from conservative to MAGA without looking back, without regard for how those they enable would hurt me if they could. 

I started contemplating ways to heal these personal losses, in addition to taking political action: Create something (art, music, crafts) while he tears things down; plant an organic garden while he promotes pesticides; make new like-minded friends to replace those lost to the cult; limit exposure to the news and social media to avoid his face and voice; seek cognitive-based therapy (CBT) and energy work to calm our vagus nerves; attend a progressive house of worship that condemns bigotry; seek healthy distractions to temporarily forget.   

That stranger’s protest sign at the rally opened up a Pandora’s Box that I hadn’t taken time to inventory. Thanks to her, I know I speak for thousands of Americans when I authentically give voice to what I miss about myself and about my country. It sensitized me to get in touch with these losses and reclaim myself. 

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Copyright 2026 Patricia A. Nugent

Patricia A. Nugent writes to give voice to those who might otherwise be silenced, following a career as a school district administrator and adjunct communication professor. She’s the author of the memoirs They Live On: Saying Goodbye to Mom and Dad and Healing with Dolly Lama: Finding God in Dog. She also edited the anthology Before They Were Our Mothers: Voices of Women Born Before Rosie Started Riveting.