“I would like to see more positivity, more hopefulness,” my dad said to me gently after reading my initial reaction piece to the election results.

But this is how I feel.

Still, I considered his opinion, and I knew he wasn’t wrong. I too, wanted to see more positivity within myself. I knew that my words were coming from an emotionally charged, sleep deprived day. I had gotten two hours of sleep the night before, and woken up to a rainy Scotland morning, where I forced myself out of bed and into streets and classrooms of people all wondering the same thing I was.

How did this happen?

I was heartbroken, and I was speaking from that broken place. The country I love had hurt me, and I wanted to do what we all tend to do when we are hurt—I wanted to throw that hurt back.

There is power in what we say. This election, if nothing else, should have taught us that. Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton’s words followed them everywhere—things they hoped no one had heard were echoed on every television in the U.S., things they promised to their supporters turned into plans and provided people a beacon of hope. The words that were said in anger, in emotional-filled moments when they were struggling to get people to just get them haunted them throughout their campaigns.

I followed this election closely. I listened to the words Trump said about women, about minorities, and about his opponents and I wondered how anyone could support him. His words impacted me so much that I projected them onto his supporters. I equated a vote for Trump to a vote in support of the things he had said. How could I not? They were burned into my memory. They made me cringe. They made me cry.

I have tried recently to wonder what caused Donald Trump to say the words he did, and even more than that, I have tried to understand the hearts of people I know and love who have echoed his sentiments, sometimes more strongly than he originally said them.

What drove their words? Frustration maybe, at a country that was moving away from their values and morals faster than they could keep up? Fear maybe, in a time of uncertainty and terror that we feel every day on a global scale? Maybe it was anger, and disbelief, at the democratic party who put forth a candidate they felt they couldn’t trust?

Maybe that’s all wrong. I can’t pretend to know why others say the things they do, but I can look to my own heart to find the source of the words that were spilling out of my mouth. Why couldn’t I find a hopeful word in me? I was frustrated at a country moving away from my values and beliefs. I was afraid at the direction we would go now. I was angry with the results, and I was in disbelief that we had been left with two candidates who made many Americans uneasy with casting a vote for either.

My words were coming from the same place, from the same emotions. Sure, our beliefs were different. If you looked at what we were tweeting and posting and saying, it would be hard to find a common ground for us to stand on, but don’t we all want to feel safe, loved, and validated? Don’t we all find ourselves armed with fighting words when others beat us down, label us as things we don’t think we are, and fail to listen to our hopes and fears?

I know I do, and I had all 947 of those words typed out. They were justified, but they also carried the potential to hurt. They carried the potential to weaken everything I say I believe in. They carried the potential to invite the same type of words from a different viewpoint, to multiply the amount of words we’re seeing born out of frustration, fear, and anger at a time when all I really want are more words born out of hope, love, and compassion.