Can We Talk? Politics, Polarization, and Thanksgiving Dinner
Author: Kerrie Mohr
As we head into this holiday season, I find myself reflecting on the familiar terrain we seem to be treading once again. With Donald Trump entering his second term, I experienced a profound sense of déjà vu while sitting across from a client with whom I journeyed through the impact of the election eight years ago. This time, though, I felt more centered, grounded in my own sense of resourcefulness and resilience. It gave me a quiet confidence that I can handle whatever arises—with my clients, my team at A Good Place Therapy, and my colleagues.
“Picking blueberries, even when we couldn't always pick the same side. Miss you, Dad." - Kerrie Mohr, as she thinks about the treasured memory of going blueberry picking with her father, all the while having different political beliefs.
On a personal note, this year has also been marked by profound loss as I navigated the passing of my father. It’s a loss that has placed me too soon in a club I long dreaded joining—the one where holidays carry a bittersweet tinge, no longer untainted by grief. As I sit with the complexities of these feelings, I am learning to embrace them as they come, without judgment, and to offer myself what I need in those moments.
My father and I didn’t always see eye to eye politically. In my twenties, I often challenged his beliefs, juxtaposed with my yearning for his approval in my choice to become a social worker—pursuing a path he might have seen as embodying values he vehemently opposed in “the other party.” Yet, he never showed me anything but pride. He taught me to see that we shared a vision for equality and humanitarianism; we just believed in different pathways to get there. His lessons in nuance shaped my ability to hold space for multiple perspectives—a skill I carry into my work as a therapist, and even once humorously put into practice during college, role-playing a Republican senator, to help young advocates sharpen their skills at a Children’s Defense Fund conference, where I interned.
This nuance feels especially timely. Recently, I shared an op-ed by artist Gillian Laub on our A Good Place Therapy Instagram account, which reflects on navigating political divides within families. Gillian and I connected when we both spoke on a Yom Kippur panel in 2017 titled “Can We Talk?” While the article resonated with many, it also sparked a DM from a follower who felt hurt, interpreting it as advocating for unity with "the abuser," referencing Trump. This interaction was a poignant reminder of how deeply polarized our discourse remains and the importance of approaching these conversations with care and thoughtfulness. Most of us don’t live lives where everyone agrees with us. This said, there are usually always points of connection we can aim for even when we can’t bond over shared political views.
Looking back at my notes from my 2017 talk, the lessons feel as relevant as ever. Here are some of the points I covered back then:
In a divided nation, our relationships with family and friends often fracture along political lines. Binary, “all-or-nothing” thinking dominates, making disagreement feel intolerable. But as mental health providers, we know this isn’t just about politics—it’s about social suffering.
Social pain, like physical pain, is deeply felt in the body. At the same time, social connection has the power to reduce that pain. When we encounter anger, anxiety, or upset—whether sparked by the news or a tough conversation with someone whose views differ from our own—our nervous system’s “fight-or-flight” response activates. It’s crucial to listen to our bodies, take a deep breath, and give ourselves the space to calm before responding.
As Brené Brown reminds us, we are hardwired for connection. Speaking our truths and having difficult conversations is part of our biology. Silence, too, is hard on the body. The key is learning to regulate our nervous systems so we can engage from a place of groundedness and compassion.
This year, I’m recommitting to approaching these moments from my own center. I strive to play the role that feels most authentic to me: a bridge-builder. I remind myself that not everyone who votes differently is voting for the thing I am voting against, and vice versa. This nuanced approach allows me to stay present, open, and connected.
Whatever this holiday season brings for you, I wish you peace, love, and the space to hold yourself—and those around you—with care and grace.