It started with a call from a colleague—not just any call, but the kind where you’re clutching your “World’s Okayest Counselor” tumbler, still trying to shake off the fog of a long day, when BAM, philosophy hits you like a political debate at the kids’ table.

“I think it all comes down to privilege,” she said, exasperated. That launched us into a deep-dive analysis, as counselors sometimes do. Sure, at some point, she and I were both broke-as-hell single moms juggling work, school, baseball practice, and band concerts. Privilege, some of it innate, some of it hard-earned, is complicated. But it’s real.

You see, counselors have a knack for turning life into an existential Ikea project: we unpack worldviews with the precision of assembling a MALM dresser. Why do you think that? How does it serve you? Who hurt you? (Spoiler: it might be someone at the Thanksgiving dinner table.)

Which brings us to the holiday itself—a perfect storm of mashed potatoes, questionable casseroles, and political crossfire. It’s the ultimate clash of ideologies, sprinkled with a dash of lumpy cranberry sauce no one asked for. There’s Uncle Bill, convinced the government is targeting his cable package; Aunt Susan, armed with voter registration cards in her glovebox for the high school seniors in the family; and Cousin Jake, who thinks TikTok is a credible news source.

The kicker? Most people are limited by their own experiences. If you grew up in a “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” household, you might believe individual effort solves everything. If your family leaned on community, you may vote for policies that benefit the collective good. And if you’re a counselor, you’ll fight the urge to diagnose everyone while plotting subtle ways to advocate for boundaries.

For folks like me, who make a living honoring other people’s values and cultures, these dynamics are fascinating. (Or maddening, depending on how much wine has been consumed.) They’re a reminder that every person at the table—whether it’s the turkey or the debate kind—is shaped by their own story. Privilege, culture, and experience form our perspectives, and yes, sometimes they blind us to others’.

Thanksgiving is, at its core, democracy in action. Everyone gets a say, even if it’s Uncle Bill shouting “fake news!” over the pumpkin pie. Sure, politics and privilege shape our voting choices, but the real magic happens when we listen to each other. (Or at least pretend to while silently judging Aunt Susan’s green bean recipe.)

So this Thanksgiving, as you navigate political landmines and overcooked casseroles, remember: we’re all works in progress. Our stories, like Aunt Susan’s side dishes, are varied, messy, and sometimes a little too salty. But with humor, grace, and a slice of pie, common ground is possible—even if it’s just agreeing that pineapple has no place in stuffing.

Now pass the gravy and pour me some wine. Politics might divide us, but carbs are a unifying force. And when you walk through that front door, remind yourself: a logical argument lands better than an emotional tirade, even when the cause is righteous.

May the odds—and the stuffing—be ever in your "flavor".

About the author

Chelsea Jackson Garcia is a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) in Texas and an NBCC National Certified Counselor. She owns SHAW Psychotherapy, an inclusive private practice in Waco, TX, specializing in adolescents and women.

Disclaimer: The information presented and contained is for entertainment value only (Just remember, laughter is great, but therapy is even better) and should not be construed as mental health service or medical care.