At the conclusion of the circus that ended with Brett Kavanaugh’s appointment to the Supreme Court I posted a drawing of a pussy hat with “#FuckYou” printed across it. My public reaction to the debacle felt justified and was certainly echoed by many others around me.

And yet I felt ambivalence as I hit the “Publish” button. Why?

I found my answer today when I talked about it with my friend. She asked what was beneath my expression of outrage? As she asked this question, she moved her hands from her head down to her heart and stomach, which took me on the same journey inside myself.

Where I found the rest of the equation:

Grief.

Hurt.

Betrayal.

The unguarded animal inside me that is wailing in pain.

My – oh god – vulnerability.

#FuckYou is not what’s in my heart. #FuckYou is not the whole equation. #FuckYou is not everything I have to say.

#FuckYou is the fire my heart instills in me, having witnessed, once again, the shameful truth about the utter contempt of our country’s current leadership toward the humanity of women.

My #FuckYou means that, in spite of how vulnerable that makes me feel, how afraid, how sad, I am not going to go down. That this is not over. That I will not give up.