To all of the Americans who don't look like me or believe what I believe in, who come from different places than myself and were raised on different customs and values and whose lifestyles are different from my own: I know you're scared. But you aren't alone.

I know you're scared, not of our next president or what America stands for, but you're scared of the cruelty that is brought about when people misinterpret who we are altogether. Who we've always been.

I was raised in a Southern Baptist community alongside people who condemned gays. Alongside friends who viewed minorities as inferior. Alongside people who told me for my entire life that I could never do what a man could do. That I was biologically less. And that you can't argue science, of course. I was raised with people who had no sympathy for the poor. Who threw spare change to help children of foreign war and called it goodness. Alongside those who professed to follow a benevolent and accepting God. Yet found no room in their hearts for the love that He preached.

And it was only when I stopped listening to the people who told me who God was, that I truly found Him. I found a loving God who took my place. A God who taught me sympathy and sacrifice. Tolerance and understanding. A God who taught me what it meant to truly love.

So through all the hatred and the ugliness, I want you to hear me out.

I want you to know that I'm scared too.

But that none of us are ever alone.

To the woman who was sexually assaulted and never received justice. Who continues to watch men brag about the same act that destroyed your self-confidence and ability to love. I would take your place.

To the Muslim who fears for your life. Who gets mercilessly picked on and threatened. Who feels like you are not accepted in a country built on the backs of people like you. Who is afraid to express your beliefs in public. Who is afraid to pray. I would take your place.

To the member of the LGBTQ+ community who is told that you are disgusting or an abomination by those who claim to show love. Who is treated so poorly that at times, you would rather be dead. Who is told who you can and can't love. Who is suffering silently with no compassion. Who thinks that who you are is something that has to be corrected. I would take your place.

To the poor who tries your hardest to keep a job or to rise above your circumstances. Or to simply feed your children. Who is shown no kindness. Who is blamed for being hungry. Who doesn't get a Christmas dinner or a warm fire during the holidays. I would take your place.

To the Syrian refugee who was separated from your father and your family. Who wishes to come to a country that offers hope and freedom. Who realizes that the price for freedom is unequal treatment and prejudice. Who is labeled "terrorist" by a group of people who tortured your civilians and called it war. I would take your place.

To the veteran who suffers from PTSD without any understanding. Who won the purple heart. Who watched his friend die. Who was a prisoner of war and is too afraid to sleep through one night. Who lost everything. Who is an unnoticed hero living on the streets. I would take your place.

To the man who is plagued by the societal view of masculinity. Who can't cry or show emotion without the fear of being called the awful names that you called the boy who wore makeup to school. I would take your place.

I would take your place because a long time ago, a perfect man suffered and died to take mine. To take my pain and my fears so that I wouldn't have to worry about things such as hatred, bigotry, cruelty and inequality.

As the human race, we are innately connected to one another. A connection that transcends time, race, religion, gender, sexuality, social class and any other impending factor. A connection that we can no longer ignore.

We must learn how to show compassion to people who are not like us. We must learn how to be willing to love to the point of taking others' place.

And if we aren't brave enough to take the place of their pain or to stand up for them and face similar suffering.

The least we can do is not add to it.