I’ll never forget the first time I saw the Capitol Building: January 21, 2025, my first day of work. I had just navigated the Metro alone for the first time, a small victory. Still overwhelmed from my first weekend in D.C., which coincided with the inauguration, I found myself unexpectedly emotional as the Capitol came into view, captivated by the white dome.
After interning in a district office for a member of the House last summer, I assumed this experience would be similar. Within hours of walking into the D.C. office of a different member, I realized how wrong I was.
I didn’t know then that my time on the Hill would challenge me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. For a world that insists upon tolerance, I learned how quickly people abandon it when they don’t like who you work for.
People don’t realize who’s on the other end of a congressional phone line. It’s not a Chief of Staff or a Communications Director picking up the phone. It’s interns, often college students, full of hope and eager to contribute, still trying to find their place in the system. I, a young, conservative woman, was one of them, excited to be in D.C., proud to represent my values, and ready to work hard.
What I received in return was often disproportionate to my excitement – not because of anything I did, but because of who I represented. Rage, misogyny, and ideological hatred poured in from strangers who didn’t even know my name.
As an intern during a wave of bold, polarizing decisions by the new president, I found myself fielding far-from-typical calls that quickly became routine. Each day brought a new issue. Common topics included: “What’s the Congressman’s stance on Trump pardoning January 6th rioters?”, “What’s he doing about tariffs?”, and “Why is he trying to remove our Medicaid?”
The day Elon Musk entered the White House marked the start of what felt like six weeks of mental unraveling. From 9:00 to 5:00, the phones never stopped—four lines lit up constantly, voicemails stacked up, and some calls felt like a personal attack. Most days, I barely caught my breath. It wasn’t just exhausting; It was dehumanizing. People called me a disgrace to women, told me to kill myself, and accused me of being a Nazi.
I’m still stunned by how vicious people can be when they forget there’s a human on the other end of the line, regardless of political views. Our supervisor reminded us to stay calm and avoid giving callers emotional ammunition, but what stuck with me most was how often my gender became a target.
Some of the harshest callers were women, hostile simply because I was one too. To them, the idea of a young woman working in a Republican office was offensive. Just answering the phone made me a “traitor to my gender.” They assumed everything: my beliefs and my morals, and used those assumptions to justify cruelty. What made it even worse was knowing that, from time to time, there were family friends on the other end of the line, tearing me apart without realizing who they were speaking to.
Did they know it was me? Of course not. It took everything in me to stay quiet, to resist the urge to reveal my identity. They would never say those things to my face, or to anyone, for that matter. But the anonymity of the phone gave them a sense of power. I’m certain they’d be mortified if I ever confronted them. Then again, confidentiality is part of the job.
My mind constantly raced with those calls. Being called a “Nazi” left a substantial mark on me. Having no way to defend myself was one of the hardest things to carry.
Somehow, through that fog, I found pieces of light. I leaned on the other two interns. We were in it together. Their presence, their humor, and our Metro rides home gave me something to look forward to. As the volume of calls began to dip around spring, I could finally focus on the work that brought me here: policy drafting, memos, reviewing markups, and attending briefings.
In early April, I had the chance to attend an event for conservative female interns. The room was filled with influential female conservative leaders, many of whom had once walked the same path as Hill interns.
During the Q&A session, the conversation turned toward perseverance and finding your place in challenging environments. I raised my hand and asked, “I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way, but as a former conservative female intern, was there ever a moment when it all just felt like too much, when you thought about giving up? Because the calls I’ve been taking lately have been anything but encouraging.”
The room fell silent, followed by a wave of nodding heads, dropped jaws, and a collective sigh. I had said aloud what many had been carrying quietly. I gave a voice to a shared struggle, one we had all felt, but none had dared to speak. That moment sparked a powerful and honest conversation that brought much-needed validation to everyone in the room.
Camaraderie bloomed instantly. As we spoke, we realized just how many of us had been having the same experience: feeling alone and questioning ourselves, yet pushing forward. After the event, dozens of women approached me. They wanted to exchange numbers, grab lunch, and invite me to future gatherings. Suddenly, the loneliness I had been feeling for months was replaced by a sense of belonging.
I kept thinking, “Where was this in February? Why now?” But it didn’t matter. I left that day with a lighter heart and a stronger sense of self. I was no longer the odd one out. I had found my community.
Capitol tours became a breath of fresh air. Guiding families through the building reminded me that despite everything, people still believe in something bigger. Guests often emailed my supervisor to thank me, some bringing me to tears. These moments restored a piece of myself that the phones had stripped away.
When I first arrived on the Hill, I was full of awe and excitement, unaware of what I was walking into. Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t know. If someone had warned me in December about what was coming, I might’ve run the other way. But enduring that storm was the only way to see the brighter sun. I can’t imagine not having had this experience. I’m not the same person I was when I started.
When my internship ended, something felt off. The government was in turmoil, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what the next group of interns would walk into. Just five days before my last day, a new intern had started. It was surreal knowing how unaware she was of the storm we had just weathered. Coincidentally, she was also the only female intern in her class, the one following mine. But unlike me, she wouldn’t have to face it alone. She had something I didn’t have during my hardest days: me.
Even if she encountered the same dismissiveness or disrespect from others, I could be the support I once wished for. Every time she reached out, which became almost weekly, I felt a quiet sense of comfort. In a way, it felt like a season of redemption. She was better equipped to handle the weight of it all, not because the job had changed, but because she had someone to turn to who truly understood.
After the other interns left, it was just me for the first time, and while I wasnt afraid, it felt unfinished. The three of us had gone through something intense, something only we understood. Now I was closing it out alone.
But in that solitude, I saw how far I’d come. I wasn’t that wide-eyed intern anymore. I was still standing, more grounded, confident, and committed to the values that brought me here.
I left the Hill stronger, though not unscathed. Those responses I once dreaded taught the importance of standing firm in your beliefs, especially when the world tries to shame you for them.
In a few months, I heard thousands of opinions from constituents and gained a deeper understanding of diverse perspectives. I learned to think more critically and be mindful of how my words land.
I believe in public service, I believe in D.C., and I believe now, conviction isn’t weakness: it’s strength. Conservative women belong here. And the next time someone picks up the phone on the Hill, I pray they’re met with respect because they might be someone like me: hopeful, determined, and ready to serve our great nation.
