I had an epiphany over Thanksgiving, and it hit me like a freight train. My family finally said what I think they’ve been biting their tongues about for years: now I think might have that right-wing coined “Trump Derangement Syndrome”.
It started innocently enough. Someone mentioned gas prices, and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in a monologue about the lasting effects of the Trump administration. My uncle interrupted me, half-laughing, and said, “You know, not everything has to go back to Trump.”
I was taken aback, but then my sister chimed in, “Seriously, you’ve brought him up like four times already, and we’re only at the appetizers.” My mom, in her calm, diplomatic way, said, “Sweetie, you do talk about him a lot. Maybe it’s time to let it go?”
The kicker came when my dad—who barely says a word about politics—added, “You sound like you’re still living in 2019.”
I brushed it off at the moment, but later that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Was I obsessed? I mean, sure, I followed the news, but I wasn’t that bad. Was I?
Then I remembered something my therapist said a few weeks ago. She’d pointed out how often I brought Trump up during our sessions. I laughed it off at the time, saying, “Well, he’s everywhere!” But now I was starting to realize: maybe I’m the one keeping him everywhere.
I went back through my recent conversations in my head, and the pattern was undeniable. Somehow, every topic—from weather to pop culture—would circle back to Trump. It was as if he had set up camp in my brain and wasn’t paying rent.
And for what? Why am I giving him so much free real estate in my head?
Last night, I made a decision. I can’t keep letting Trump dictate my mental energy, my conversations, my therapy sessions—my life. I’m not saying I’ll stop caring about politics or the state of the world, but I need to reframe. There’s more to life than one man, no matter how polarizing or consequential he’s been.
So, this is my moment of clarity: Trump doesn’t own me anymore. He’s a chapter in the book of history, not the book of my existence. Maybe now, I can finally reclaim some peace—and tonight I will enjoy Thanksgiving leftovers, and later this month Christmas without turning it into a debate.