Tilted Mirror

Half the House

Lunch with my fellow retired teachers—smart, kind, committed women, all lifelong liberals—unfolded as expected. Sandwiches, stories, and then the predictable swell: outrage over Trump, Stephen Miller, immigration policies, climate denial, “how could anyone…?”

The energy was familiar. The moral clarity. The righteousness. The cathartic fury.

And yet, I felt tired. Not because I disagreed—but because I felt the floorboards under our conversation starting to creak. So I said:

“You know, all of this—Trump, Miller, the policies—they’re not the cause. They’re the symptom. Half of this country is happy with them.”

Silence. Nods. Then nothing.

Not because they disagreed, but because—at some level—they knew it too. And that’s harder than rage. Harder than arguing. Because once you admit it’s not them, it’s us—you’ve stepped out of therapy and into reality.

Half the house is not just listening to a different tune. They built a whole new room. And we’re still yelling from the kitchen.