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Do Women Hide Their Vote? My Story.

Editor’s note: dates and names have been changed throughout, but the story is hers. ~ ed.

A lot of folks were shocked by that ad suggesting women can keep their vote a secret from their husbands.

Donald Trump said,

“I mean, can you imagine a wife not telling her husband who she’s voting for? You ever hear anything like that? Even if you have a horrible — if you had a bad relationship, you’re gonna tell your husband. It’s a ridiculous ad, it’s so stupid.”

My first election as a married woman was 1992.

I’d been married just over a year, and had a new baby. The candidates were: George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and Ross Perot. This was only the second presidential election I was even old enough to vote!

I was excited!

My young partner and I lived in Tennessee. We both worked on a Christian campus. I worked in the Registrar’s Office. Across campus (which was our entire community) the absolute disdain for Bill Clinton was palpable.

But a lot of what Clinton was saying made sense to me…so I asked a lot of questions of the people in my world. Primarily, the registrar, the director of admissions, and my partner. My partner was voting for Perot, and expected that I would, too. I had been taught that a woman should always vote the same as her partner in order to be submissive, and to “restore” the 1/2 vote they lost when women gained the right to vote.

This teaching and belief is very real, and it has been debated in the media quite a bit this week. Many conservative men do not allow their wives to vote differently.

So, here was my dilemma:

Everyone in my world said Clinton was evil, and I should vote for Bush.

My husband was vocal about his support of Perot, and teased me for not agreeing.

I really liked Bill Clinton.

How could I vote for the candidate I believed was right, and still honor God, and also honor my husband?

It was an impossible situation.

The night before the election I made a quick, long-distance call to my dad, the one man whose opinion I respected more than any other. I still remember standing in my tiny kitchen, baby on one hip, phone cord stretched from the hallway, as I quietly asked,

“Would it be a sin if I don’t vote for Bush?”

Response: “Yes.”

The next day I stood in the voting booth and agonized as I made the only choice I could. I decided no matter what, I would never tell anyone my decision. Not even my husband.

The morning after, the headline on our local newspaper declared,

“Clinton Wins by a Landslide!”

The Director of Admissions marched thru the office loudly saying, “It wasn’t a landslide!! It was very close!”

I asked him,

“You’ve been saying Bush would win because God is on the throne and will have His way. Isn’t God still on the throne today?”

The women in my office asked what decision I made. I stood firm in my decision not to share. The registrar’s assistant looked at me with contempt as she said,

“I knew you’d vote for Clinton.”

My husband asked me endlessly, wanting to know my decision. I told him I was keeping it a secret. He replied,

“I’m sure you voted for Bush. Just tell me, I promise not to get mad.”

Fast forward to our seventh wedding anniversary, we were living back in Iowa, and our little kids were spending the night with grandma. We went to dinner to celebrate, and I was looking forward to a whole night without kids!

We pulled into the driveway. Husband turned off the car, and instead of going in the house, he said, “I have a question for you.”

I bristled. “Ok.”

He: “I want you to be honest. I won’t be mad.”

Me (deep breath): “Okay.”

He: “Who did you vote for that one time?”

Me: “I don’t want to say.”

He: “How about this? You tell me who you voted for, and I will tell you if I’ve ever been to a strip club.”

I stared through the car window. It was so dark. Where was the moon? I could barely make out the pine trees that stood on one edge of our property.

I didn’t want him to see my tears welling up. My stomach began churning. I knew I was going to be sick and he would mock me for it.

Without looking at him, I whispered a single word, “Bush.”

“I knew it! I knew it! I don’t know why you wouldn’t just tell me!”

True to his word, he told me about the strippers. How one had fallen off the table and into his lap and all the guys cheered. How she had pulled out her g-string so he could tuck a tip.

I’d had three babies in six years. Suddenly, I was more ashamed of my body than I had ever been. We struggled for money. I left my babies and worked for minimal tips at Ponderosa.

I could have made more at a nice restaurant, but I didn’t believe in serving alcohol.

And my hard-earned tips found their way into a stripper’s g-string?

I threw open the car door and rushed to the bathroom. “I knew you couldn’t handle it,” he mocked through the bathroom door. “I can’t tell you anything without you having to run to the bathroom.”

Twenty-five years later, I recognize that his confession was not a “deal” to learn who I voted for. It was a punishment. For voting differently than he did. For keeping a secret. For exerting my own will. It was a power play.

I knew I was supposed to restore his full vote, but I also had to obey God. Moving forward, they were one and the same.

Pleasing God meant pleasing my husband. Period. I no longer had a decision to make.

So, yes, Mr. Trump, I can imagine a woman not telling her husband who she’s voting for.

Because there is a consequence if she’s not in alignment with him.

It’s not a stupid ad.

It’s a brilliant ad that will cause women in marriages and religions like mine to think. There are thousands of women who would never consider voting differently from their husband. They don’t even know they’re allowed!

If this resonates with you, reach out. There’s a lot more going on in your marriage besides your thoughts on the election.

And I’m here for you.