This article is somewhat overdue, but with good reason. For the past week I've been grappling with my emotions after the results of the 2016 Presidential Election - the first election I had the privilege of voting in.

I woke up Tuesday morning with an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach. It was excitement, but an excitement I hadn't yet experienced. Although I've been over 18 for 2 years now, voting felt like the first real "adult" thing I'd done. Sure, I've gotten piercings without my mother's permission and I've bought lottery tickets, but voting for the first time made me feel a kind of "responsible" I hadn't felt before (because yes, unlike the naysayers of my generation, I do believe my vote "counts" - not only that, but I don't believe in missing the opportunity to exercise a privilege not given to women in other parts of the world).

Like most of my friends, I was sure that, when I cast my ballot, I had just helped elect the first female president. I was having imaginary conversations with my future daughter in my head about this historic moment, and the role I played in it. I was confident in my candidate, as were many of my democratic friends, and we shared the shock and disbelief the rest of the nation did, as we watched the results unfold on CNN from our futon in our small dorm suite. We watched our nation take 10 steps backwards, when I thought we would be watching the highest glass ceiling finally shatter. It felt like a nightmare.

But it wasn't. And I woke up the next morning with another unfamiliar feeling in my stomach - fear. I may have not always been proud of the country I live in, but never have I felt unsafe. Not until I woke up knowing that Donald Trump was my president. Going to class that day, it felt like there was a fog over the campus. Quite literally, it was a cloudy, sucky, rainy day - but it was eerily fitting. When I imagined the aftermath of my first real Election Day, I never expected it to be a day of mourning. But it was.

I called my mom that day, like a lot of young, confused college-aged women do when they don't know how to feel, and she didn't have the answers. No one does. When I hung up, I cried for myself, for Hillary Clinton, for every woman I know, for my gay and lesbian friends, for my Muslim friends, for my African American friends, for anyone who doesn't fit into Donald Trump's America, for everyone who is "The Other" in this scenario.

If you think I'm being dramatic, I implore you to take a step back and check your privilege. Because if you can't understand why people are scared, congratulations: you probably have nothing to be scared of. But you must recognize what this means for all those "others." It doesn't matter if he "can't actually do anything." This is the argument I keep being told-- "Don't worry, we have checks and balances for a reason." "You're being foolish, he isn't taking away anyone's rights." "You're just adding to the fear rhetoric, you aren't changing anything."

I think these people are missing the point. We, the United States of America, pride ourselves on being "the best country in the world." We literally grow up learning that in school. If we are going to have the audacity to give ourselves that title, we must live up to it, and by electing Donald Trump as our president, we have failed in doing so. It doesn't matter if he can't actually do all the horrible things he's promised (building a wall, bombing innocent people in the Middle East, deporting immigrants, just to name a few). What matters is in saying these things, Donald Trump is representing these things. He's a representation of homophobia, sexism, Islamophobia, xenophobia, racism. And he's a representation of the United States as a whole.

The whole world was watching this election. And we just told them what we stand for, and if it's not what we stand for, it's what we'll put up with. Even if you claim you aren't racist or sexist but voted for Trump anyway... you voted for him anyway. You decided those aspects of his character do not matter, thus, you told your gay friends, your Muslim coworkers, your wife or daughter or girlfriend, that they don't matter. You don't get to ignore that, you must be responsible for your vote. You have to admit to yourself that you just aided in electing this man, this man who has sent terror through our country, through your friends, your coworkers, your wife or daughter or girlfriend. And you are in NO position to tell someone they're wrong for feeling that way. You can't just tell someone how to feel. You simply can't.

Donald Trump himself isn't even what I'm most afraid of, and I think a lot of people would agree with me. I understand how our government works. I know he doesn't hold all the power. The bigger issue here is that in electing a president who condones racism and sexism and homophobia, we have enabled the racist and sexist and homophobic people of our country to think those beliefs are okay. If the president of your country has admitted to sexually assaulting women and gets to be president, what's stopping you from getting away with it? If the president of your country doesn't like immigrants, why should you?

Over and over again, I keep hearing the same thing from fellow democrats and liberals and anyone who had stupid, blind faith in the humanity of our country: this was a wake-up call. The US is not the greatest country in the world. There are real problems going on and it's up to us to face them, to acknowledge them. We're allowed to be upset and angry. We are allowed to mourn. But then we have to get involved. We must engage ourselves. This is not a time for complacency from anyone. Speak up, have conversations, fight for what you believe in, stand up for the oppressed and get angry, get loud, get upset. Then focus it and be productive. Not just because it's the right thing to do, but because you must. If you care, you must.