A Conversation With My 28 Year Old Self-Just Before the Trump White House in 2017 (By Sofia Kinzinger)

I felt it deep in my chest—the moment had arrived. I had to sit her down and tell her the truth, to prepare her for what was coming. She was about to enter the White House, to serve in the Trump administration. And whether she knew it or not, her world was about to change. But in the end, I needed her to believe—everything would make sense.

As I expected, she arrived a little late, but I could tell she felt ashamed. She tried to explain her hectic life, describing the inaugural committee and the daunting task of pulling off such a monumental event in just a month. She was overwhelmed, struggling to find direction and control over her responsibilities, yet there was an undeniable sense of excitement in her voice.

When I asked her about the White House job she was about to start, she opened up about her nerves. She admitted she didn’t even know her job title or salary yet—only that Sean Spicer, her current boss, wanted her to join his communications team. I could sense she wanted reassurance, a gentle nudge to embrace the opportunity. But I didn’t want to create a false illusion that things were going to be easy.

I told her that her real nervousness stemmed not from the lack of details about her role, but from her awareness of being an outsider. She had witnessed the division between the campaign and the Republican National Committee, and she knew she would have to prove her loyalty as former RNC staffer to the Trump team. I wanted her to understand that her fear was both accurate and very real.

She looked down, as she often did in moments of reflection. Then, lifting her gaze to meet mine, she said, “My intentions are to serve this country with integrity. I’m willing to work hard. I’m not seeking public recognition or power; I’m here to get the job done, learn from others, and grow in my professional career.” I reminded her that this sentiment would remain with her throughout this journey she is about to embark, right up until the day she resigns. The moment I mentioned “resign,” I could see her agitation; it felt to her like an implication of leaving on bad terms.

I assured her that she could relax; she would remain in the administration for the full term, leaving during the last year of Trump’s first term. When I asked if that brought her comfort, she replied it would—if she could be certain she’d be genuinely happy during that time. It was a fair point, so I promised to be honest with her.

I told her she was about to embark on a once-in-a-lifetime experience—traveling the world, participating in crucial conversations, and, most importantly, being heard by her superiors. She would feel empowered and discover issues she was passionate about. But I cautioned her that there would be challenges as well.

I explained that she would have to sacrifice her personal life. In almost every role, she would find herself understaffed and underpaid compared to others. Since she was single and without kids, she was going to embrace it all, and this reality would become so familiar that she would learn to adapt. Long hours and weekends would be the norm, and sometimes her superiors might not be qualified, forcing her to step in without receiving credit.

I paused to emphasize my point, wanting her to fully grasp the weight of what I was saying. “You’ll find yourself surrounded by chaos that feels inherently wrong,” I told her, “and yet, you’ll choose to keep your head down, justifying it as the right move for a mid-level staffer.” I reassured her that this approach would become a coping mechanism—one that would feel necessary in the moment.

But then she interrupted me, saying, “I understand it won’t be easy, but I believe in the policies. My faith is strong, and I know others coming into the administration are faithful Christians like me—how bad can it be?” Her innocence took me aback, stirring a mix of concern and anger within me. I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully to mask my anger.

I explained that the policies themselves wouldn’t be the main issue; rather, it would be the way they were implemented. Until now, she had been surrounded by professionals who were thoughtful and intentional, where every step and word held weight. Given her past experiences, she would quickly recognize the recklessness and unprofessionalism of this new environment. Decisions would often lack a clear vision, driven by impulse and a desire for revenge—especially toward the media. The news cycle would overshadow any genuine commitment to governance or concern for the American people.

She mentioned witnessing this mentality during the campaign, struggling to believe it would persist in the White House. She began naming people who were about to join the administration whom she viewed as people of faith. I felt a deep sadness and compassion for her, knowing that she was about to embark on a significant spiritual journey. For the first time, she would realize that faith and Christianity could be manipulated for various agendas.

I leaned in closer and told her that her faith might not always feel strong. She would face periods of confusion; some of those she regarded as faithful Christians would disappoint her. She would hear them say all the right things, but their actions would reveal a different truth. The best advice I could offer was to "hold on to what you know to be the truth. God embodies love, compassion, peace, and kindness. Trust your intuition to reject fear, hate, division, and manipulation."

That's when the conversation became a bit heated. She was visibly upset, struggling to understand why I had called her in the first place. Frustrated, she wanted to know if the bad news I had to share was somehow tied to her race. She asked if being Hispanic would make her experience more challenging.

I quickly reassured her that it wouldn’t. I never wanted her to feel ashamed of her background. In fact, her Hispanic heritage and fluency in both Spanish and English would be significant assets. These qualities would open doors for her and make her skills hard to replace, setting her apart.

However, I did caution her that she was about to enter a very superficial environment where appearances and clothing choices held considerable weight. She would witness others being overlooked simply because they didn’t fit certain standards of beauty or fashion. I told her that she would learn to distinguish between those who genuinely understand the challenges Hispanics face in this country and those who do not. Some individuals will recognize the issues and sincerely seek solutions. In contrast, others will make it clear that the matter is personal for them, perhaps hinting at a past trauma linked to their fixation. Their desire for revenge will be evident, revealing a deeper motive behind their actions.

As I anticipated, my response didn’t alleviate her concerns. She seemed increasingly anxious and attempted to end the conversation by saying, “Look, I can see you’ve become a Democrat. I get that this didn’t happen overnight, and you probably have your reasons. But honestly, this conversation is making things worse for me. If you don’t want me to take the job, just say so.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her assertion that I was a Democrat, which she clearly saw as disrespectful. I quickly apologized and replied, “Sofia, you and I are not the same person. Your world is different from mine, and your definition of a Republican isn’t the same as the one in my world. I’m not a Democrat, and I’m not currently a Republican. To be honest, I’m not sure what I am right now.”

I hadn’t intended to discuss January 6th; it felt like too overwhelming a topic for her to handle at that moment. Still, I felt a strong urge to convey that significant changes were coming her way. Taking her hand, I said, “Sofia, there will come a day that changes everything for you. You will witness a mob of people identifying themselves as 'Republicans' rush toward your husband with the intent to harm. Even though your husband will be a Republican, he will become a target because he refuses to be blinded by the lies aimed at undermining democracy.”

She sensed the emotion in my voice and reached for my hand—a quiet gesture of compassion and understanding. I continued, “In that moment, it won’t matter how hard you worked to support the administration, or how many long hours you endured in the midst of chaos and injustice. You’ll see, with painful clarity, just how far these people are willing to go. And for you, it won’t be political—it will be deeply personal. It will feel like betrayal. But in that moment of truth, you’ll find your voice. You’ll feel the strength to speak up and reveal everything you saw.”

We sat in silence for what felt like forever, until she finally spoke.
“Undermine democracy?” she asked, her voice quiet but cutting. “Did I hear you right?”

She went on to tell me that democracy was the very reason she had been ready to take the job in the first place—because the American people had chosen a Republican administration, and she wanted to honor that choice.

I understood the depth of what that word democracy meant to her—the lifelong belief in its promise, the identity she had shaped around it, and the immense weight it carried in her heart.

I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “That’s why it’ll feel like a betrayal. But it’s that same love for democracy that will keep you going.”

She leaned in and gave me a hug. Gently, I explained that I’d called her in because I wanted her to understand something important: the nervousness she’s feeling about the job is completely valid. It’s her instincts speaking—sensing that the road ahead won’t be easy. But I also wanted her to know that, despite the challenges, things will fall into place in ways she can’t yet imagine. Along the way, she’ll find love, peace, strength, and a purpose that weaves everything together. All she needs to do is stay true—to herself, to her principles, and to her calling to serve her country with integrity.