Trump won. It’s time we put our capes away and focus on ourselves.

The election of Donald J. Trump as the 47th president of the United States hurt my soul.

I thought America was serious about her ideals. She’s not. I thought she learned her lesson after Trump was elected in 2016. She didn’t.

America reelected a convicted felon. America reelected a man who urged his supporters to bum-rush the Capitol. America reelected a man who promised to seek revenge against those who opposed him. America voted a sex offender into its highest office.

America doesn’t care. So now, neither do I.

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I’m folding up my Superwoman cape. I’m putting it away and tucking it into my hope chest. I can’t worry about America anymore. I can’t help save the democracy. Democracy made its choice. And it wasn’t for the good of all of her people.

It was in service of one man.

A lot of you are happy. Pennsylvania picked Trump. He received more statewide votes than any Republican candidate in history, a performance fueled by working-class voters including majority-Latino communities and Rust Belt areas. One out of five Philadelphians voted for Trump. Pocketbooks matter more than mean, violent rhetoric. Cheap food matters more than felonies. Lower gas prices matter more than women’s reproductive rights.

Fascism matters more than democracy.

What about souls? What about the soul of America?

Despite all that Black women have endured at the hands of this country — enslavement, rape, unequal wages, and maternal health disparities, just to name a few — we thought goodness had a shot. We rallied behind Kamala Harris. We believed she could win. We thought the best of America would prevail.

How could it not? Trump was impeached twice. He treated COVID-19 like it was a harmless cold. Harris, a district attorney, California senator, and the vice president of the United States, was qualified. She embodied what it meant to be a true, hardworking American.

She had an annoying laugh. He had 34 felony counts.

America’s moral compass would win. It had to win.

It didn’t. It’s over.

America made up its mind. Time to settle in for another tumultuous four years.

All of us — Black women and white women, gay and straight, old and young — who really believed in the power of democracy, the good of America, the hope of her future, all of us who believed that America couldn’t — or wouldn’t — make the same fool-headed decision again, should sit back, pour a glass of wine, watch a Hallmark movie, and let this drama play itself out.

This is not our problem. This is who America is. This is who she wants to be.

I pray hotheaded Trump doesn’t start World War III. I pray his wild economic policies that include not taxing overtime and tips and slapping tariffs on goods made in China don’t sink us into an economic depression rivaling the 1930s.

It’s out of my hands now. I accept it. This is what radical acceptance is — the ability to accept things outside of my control without judging them in order to reduce suffering. It is what it is.

In her concession speech, Harris asked her supporters to accept the results of the election. I do. She promised that the light will remain if we don’t give up and keep fighting.

I won’t give up. I’ll keep fighting. But not now, not for this America.

My light has been dimmed. If I want to see it shine bright again, I must take care of myself.

I’m turning my energy inward.

Don’t ask me to rant and rally. Don’t ask me to picket. Take your pussy hat back.

I don’t care if you don’t think Black lives matter. I know they do. I’m preserving my Black life. I’m focusing on my Black job.

I suggest that all of us — especially Black women — do the same. Girl, meditate, start your business, write your book, stop putting your dreams on hold. America doesn’t want our help. Let her work this mess out on her own.

We no longer have a choice.

We can only follow our dreams. Put ourselves first. And put our capes away.