I used to think politics was only for nerds and businessmen. They were the only ones who seemed to understand it, and nobody bothered explaining it in a way that a single woman working a minimum-wage job could understand.
My mind was solely focused on living paycheck to paycheck, having fun with my friends, and making sure I could afford the clothes and extras I wanted. I vividly remember paying for gas with quarters and dollar bills, hoping the “10 miles until empty” warning on my dashboard was just a suggestion and that I could somehow make it 15 miles, or at least until my next paycheck.
I barely thought about the future because, even back in the 2010s, owning a house or doing something bigger with my life never seemed possible. I grew up with parents who had good jobs and had experienced the prosperity of the late ’90s. They instilled a strong work ethic in me and expected me to stand on my own two feet, although they were always there if I really fell on my face.
I learned quickly that adulthood was expensive. Rent was just the beginning. There were utilities, furniture, car payments, insurance, and all the little expenses that somehow added up. God forbid something unexpected happened and I didn’t have the savings to cover it.
I was too busy figuring out how to afford my own life to worry about who was running the country.
Politics wasn’t a priority. Frankly, it wasn’t even on my radar.
All I knew was that taxes came out of my paycheck, and while it was annoying, what exactly was I supposed to do about it?
Truthfully, life felt like I was spinning my wheels in mud. I was working hard but getting nowhere. It never occurred to me that the size and role of government might have something to do with why getting ahead felt so impossible.
Realizing that the decisions being made in Washington could directly affect my ability to get ahead wasn’t some huge epiphany. It happened gradually over the course of about ten years. I started noticing little things, like how my paychecks didn’t seem to stretch as far as they used to, how much money was being taken out, and how the promises that had once made me a Bernie Sanders supporter started to feel like a fool’s paradise.
Bernie was particularly good at presenting himself as the savior of the working class. And as someone struggling to get ahead, I bought into it. Who wouldn’t want someone promising to make everyday life more affordable?
But the more I paid attention, the more I started questioning how those promises would actually be paid for. Medicare for All sounded great in theory, but the prospect of higher taxes made me wonder whether the solution would leave people like me any better off.
I began questioning whether the government programs I’d once believed would help people like me were actually giving us more independence or making us increasingly dependent on the very system that promised to help us.
I think one of the biggest problems facing millennials in 2026 is a growing sense of hopelessness. I see it everywhere. Some people look to the government for answers. Others become like 2010s Haile and stop paying attention altogether.
Political nihilism. I get it. Actually, I viscerally understand it.
The irony is that I now work in politics, and even I find it overwhelming sometimes. There are taxes to worry about, debates over social issues, conflicts overseas, and a seemingly endless stream of government spending decisions that leave me wondering who thought they were a good idea.
But one lesson has stuck with me through all the chaos: Even when I didn’t care about politics, it always cared about me.
I was still paying taxes. I still had a vote. I still had a voice. And the decisions being made in government still affected my life, whether I was paying attention or not.
So no, you don’t have to love politics. Find the issues that matter to you. Follow someone who explains them in plain English. Ask questions. Listen to a podcast. Read something from a perspective you disagree with.
You don’t need to know everything. You just need to care enough to start asking questions.
Because nobody cares that you hate politics. The decisions still get made without you.