One year ago, I woke up at 4 am and stepped to my computer with a little trepidation but mostly excitement. I clicked on my Facebook and scrolled quickly looking for the beatific smile of the first woman President. Instead, I saw angry posts. And one that I won’t ever forget:

“I am so ashamed of you, America.” And it was at that moment I realized I had woken up to a nightmare. I walked blindly back to bed, took a sharp right towards the bathroom, turned on the shower and climbed into the tub. I sat down and started sobbing.

A few minutes later, my husband came in, bleary eyed and confused—“what’s wrong?” And I wailed “Donald Trump is our President!” “It’s going to be fine! Now go back to bed!” He left me alone and I realized then what it means to be in an interracial relationship.

Later that morning, we went to his mothers for breakfast as we did every morning. I sliced strawberries for our toast like I did every morning. At my second strawberry, I burst into tears. His mother collected me in her arms and I realized the importance of white allies.

The next month was a series of tears, panic attacks, and rage, as I grappled with a betrayal I had been unready for. And my white husband admitted to me for the first time ever that he could never understand what I was going through but that he could cry with me.

And I realized what partnership was.

Four years later: we wake up and while scrolling through our phones, he sighs—“I can’t believe it’s finally Election Day. I’ve been waiting for this day for 4 yrs.” and I think of the bathtub, the strawberries, by mother in law’s heartbeat as she comforted me.

I say nothing. Because “me too” sounds absurdly insufficient. #VoteHimOut