Before shit went down in my marriage – before all the final straws that led to me asking for a divorce – it was 2016 and I was heavily questioning who I was married to. It was the year I distinctly recall googling: Trump is ruining my marriage. So, you know, I could see if others were feeling the same thing. I can’t even remember what those google results showed; probably because, at the end of the day, only my marriage mattered and to that end, it felt as if Trump was ruining my marriage. I’m saying that facetiously, for those keeping score, because surely a man not directly involved in our marriage could not literally be the reason for its demise. I say that instead to point to the division that took place in our very own home; a microcosm of what was happening throughout our country.

Truth is, before 2016, I really gave a rat’s ass about politics. I didn’t see myself as heavily affected one way or another by who was in power; rather, my experience showed me that whomever was in power was going to take care of me. It was all about me, you see. I laugh at my former self now, rolling my eyes at all the privilege that line of thinking is so heavily laced with.

I recall a conversation with mutual friends, who were married; the male portion agreeing with my husband, pointing to the economy and overlooking everything else and the female portion casually dismissing herself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of how she doesn’t get involved in politics, but rather puts her efforts toward being a good person. A line of thinking I know I once leaned heavily on, too, before privilege knocked on my door and so rudely introduced itself.

I’d go to work in the hospital and spend my breaks sifting through articles and texting bits and pieces to my other half, entering into debates only to be met with opposition, always. Even when we seemed to get to a place of agreement, the very next morning seemed to reset the clock and we’d be back at the beginning, re-debating the same thing.

It was exhausting.

And yet it seemed trivial. Surely couples who have been married for years don’t go their separate ways because they disagree on who is president. It felt much bigger than that, though.

Fast forward a year or two and I recall eating lunch with a friend, bitching about my marriage the way that some of us wives do. Knowing that my goal was to stay married and make it work I said something cliche about values and how – in the midst of things I couldn’t understand or didn’t want to accept – we at least held the same values.

I silently questioned myself the moment those words left my mouth; do we actually have shared values? I didn’t know anymore.

Fortunately, or unfortunately (perspective is always key), politics had nothing to do with our divorce. It’s a little of both – fortunate and unfortunate-, I guess, because it’d be a bummer if we couldn’t work out our political differences but it’s also awesome that enough other boundaries were crossed that we didn’t have to. See what I did there? Rotate the plate and you’re looking at your food from a whole new angle.

All this to say two things: one, if you’re in a marriage or relationship and vehemently disagree with your husband or partner’s point of view surrounding politics, I see you, I feel you, and the struggle is real. Also, how do you do it? And two, if politics hasn’t affected your life drastically negatively or positively, consider that you may be in a place of privilege. I didn’t vote because I didn’t think my vote mattered. I didn’t think the outcome mattered. I see now that I was only looking at it from my own privileged perspective. Today, I vote for everyone else first, and myself second. I hope you do, too.