The past eight days have been an unexpected whirlwind. I haven’t watched the news in over a week—a conscious choice I didn’t realize I’d made until just now. Instead, I found myself immersed in an intensive training experience with a group of well-educated entrepreneurs. Many of them were Trump supporters.
From the outset, I felt like a fish out of water. Conversations at breakfast, lunch, and dinner touched on deeply personal and polarizing topics: LGBTQ+ rights, abortion, health care, education, and even stem cell research, framed as "killing babies for their fetal tissue." My stomach twisted with each passing comment. After Day 1, I nearly left. By lunchtime on Day 2, I was mentally packing my bags again. If I were in the US, I am pretty sure I would have left. However, I was in Acapulco, Mexico, high on a hill overlooking Acapulco Bay in a gated community with unparalleled beauty, wonderful food and an experience I knew I needed to have.
The training itself was valuable—exactly what I needed to advance my platform—but I struggled to stay grounded. Every snippet of conversation seemed designed to trigger my fight, flight, or freeze response. I couldn’t reconcile how people who appeared so thoughtful and intelligent in one context could hold such opposing beliefs in another.
I tried engaging in a few discussions, hoping for reasoned, respectful dialogue. What I encountered instead left me more distressed. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming. How could they dismiss the glaring flaws in character and leadership I saw so clearly in our recently elected leader and his proposed cabinet? How could they not see his glaring, malignant mental illness. How could anyone believe another term under such governance was a good idea?
Just when I thought I couldn’t last another day, something unexpected happened. I connected with a participant who happened to be a psychiatrist. He shared his perspective on the current political climate—thoughtful, measured, and deeply concerned. His words didn’t erase my unease, but they grounded me. Knowing there was at least one person who saw the world as I did offered a lifeline.
With that thread of connection, I found a way to stay present. I reminded myself why I was there: to learn, to grow, and to equip myself with the tools to further my mission. I couldn’t change anyone’s mind in a week, but I could change how I experienced the week.
I also realized something important: I’ve taken for granted the training I received in pharmacy school, where evaluating information and data from a clinical perspective was second nature. Critical thinking—questioning sources, assessing evidence, and recognizing bias—was drilled into me through years of education. I assumed everyone approached information that way. Clearly, they don’t.
So I did. I focused on the work, on absorbing knowledge, on the sunsets and sunrises that painted the sky with hope, on connecting with the staff to learn about their lives, their families, their dreams. I paid attention to the present moment—to the stunning views outside our training center and the surprising depth of human resilience within.
I still feel the ache of division. My heart hurts for a world that seems increasingly driven by the relentless pursuit of money and power. But I also recognize that this divide—painful as it is—may serve a purpose I can’t fully grasp yet. Perhaps it’s a necessary reckoning, forcing us to confront what truly matters.
I’m choosing to focus on where I can have the most meaningful impact. I can’t fix the entire world, but I can contribute to the spaces where I’m called to serve. If being the lone dissenting voice in a room of Trump supporters helps someone else preserve their sanity or find clarity in their purpose, then perhaps that’s enough.
The past eight days have changed me. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve been reminded that even when the world feels impossibly divided, moments of connection, understanding, and shared humanity are still possible.
I have work to do—important work that lights me up and aligns with my purpose. And that work requires me to stay centered, to keep my heart open, and to focus on what I can change, not what I can’t.
The path ahead isn’t about winning arguments or changing minds through debate. It’s about showing up fully, authentically, and unapologetically—guided by hope, compassion, and a belief in the power of purpose-driven impact. And it's about remembering to breathe and finding joy in the present moment. That’s where I choose to place my energy now.
From the outset, I felt like a fish out of water. Conversations at breakfast, lunch, and dinner touched on deeply personal and polarizing topics: LGBTQ+ rights, abortion, health care, education, and even stem cell research, framed as "killing babies for their fetal tissue." My stomach twisted with each passing comment. After Day 1, I nearly left. By lunchtime on Day 2, I was mentally packing my bags again. If I were in the US, I am pretty sure I would have left. However, I was in Acapulco, Mexico, high on a hill overlooking Acapulco Bay in a gated community with unparalleled beauty, wonderful food and an experience I knew I needed to have.
The training itself was valuable—exactly what I needed to advance my platform—but I struggled to stay grounded. Every snippet of conversation seemed designed to trigger my fight, flight, or freeze response. I couldn’t reconcile how people who appeared so thoughtful and intelligent in one context could hold such opposing beliefs in another.
I tried engaging in a few discussions, hoping for reasoned, respectful dialogue. What I encountered instead left me more distressed. The cognitive dissonance was overwhelming. How could they dismiss the glaring flaws in character and leadership I saw so clearly in our recently elected leader and his proposed cabinet? How could they not see his glaring, malignant mental illness. How could anyone believe another term under such governance was a good idea?
Just when I thought I couldn’t last another day, something unexpected happened. I connected with a participant who happened to be a psychiatrist. He shared his perspective on the current political climate—thoughtful, measured, and deeply concerned. His words didn’t erase my unease, but they grounded me. Knowing there was at least one person who saw the world as I did offered a lifeline.
With that thread of connection, I found a way to stay present. I reminded myself why I was there: to learn, to grow, and to equip myself with the tools to further my mission. I couldn’t change anyone’s mind in a week, but I could change how I experienced the week.
I also realized something important: I’ve taken for granted the training I received in pharmacy school, where evaluating information and data from a clinical perspective was second nature. Critical thinking—questioning sources, assessing evidence, and recognizing bias—was drilled into me through years of education. I assumed everyone approached information that way. Clearly, they don’t.
So I did. I focused on the work, on absorbing knowledge, on the sunsets and sunrises that painted the sky with hope, on connecting with the staff to learn about their lives, their families, their dreams. I paid attention to the present moment—to the stunning views outside our training center and the surprising depth of human resilience within.
I still feel the ache of division. My heart hurts for a world that seems increasingly driven by the relentless pursuit of money and power. But I also recognize that this divide—painful as it is—may serve a purpose I can’t fully grasp yet. Perhaps it’s a necessary reckoning, forcing us to confront what truly matters.
I’m choosing to focus on where I can have the most meaningful impact. I can’t fix the entire world, but I can contribute to the spaces where I’m called to serve. If being the lone dissenting voice in a room of Trump supporters helps someone else preserve their sanity or find clarity in their purpose, then perhaps that’s enough.
The past eight days have changed me. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve been reminded that even when the world feels impossibly divided, moments of connection, understanding, and shared humanity are still possible.
I have work to do—important work that lights me up and aligns with my purpose. And that work requires me to stay centered, to keep my heart open, and to focus on what I can change, not what I can’t.
The path ahead isn’t about winning arguments or changing minds through debate. It’s about showing up fully, authentically, and unapologetically—guided by hope, compassion, and a belief in the power of purpose-driven impact. And it's about remembering to breathe and finding joy in the present moment. That’s where I choose to place my energy now.
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