Dear Brita and Kendall and daughters everywhere:

I was wrong. Way wrong. I really thought the passion and enthusiasm I saw in you and so many other women across the country would power Kamala Harris to the presidency.

Alas, it was not to be.

I don’t mind being wrong. I’ve been wrong many times over the years. But what kills me is to see your hope —which was my own hope too—crushed once again. You thought you wouldn’t recover from the shock of 2016, and then Kamala Harris gave you a life preserver. And now it just got cut loose, setting you back out to sea.

You can’t be blamed for asking: What else do we need to do? If not now, when? If voters choose a guy with this history over such an experienced and accomplished woman, then can we ever break the glass ceiling?

And I wouldn’t blame you for losing hope and faith in your ability to affect positive change in our society.

I say this as a father, one who cares the world for you: As you have seen in so many other aspects of your lives, the pendulum often swings, over and over. And sometimes it just takes an incredibly long time. Progress is never linear, forward, or constant.

But damn. It shouldn’t be this hard either.

So how did we get here? While it’s impossible to discount misogyny and race, there’s more to the explanation. Elections at their core are about change versus the status quo. Do voters like the way things are going—or not? And if they don’t, they’re inclined to change horses. Exit polls from last night suggest that about 7 in 10 voters felt the country was headed in the wrong direction. That’s an impossible headwind to overcome for anyone who was part of the leadership at the wheel the last four years.

While the election of a woman president didn’t happen now, that doesn’t mean you won’t see it happen. It is, in fact, inevitable, even if it feels such a long way off today.

Yes, I know you’re going to be down for a while. Depressed. Pissed. Frustrated. The worst part is that you are so familiar with these feelings. And as bad as it was eight years ago, you assumed at least you’d never have to feel them again so soon, in the same way.

In the near term, this is your world, not mine. It is an evolving world in which I can stand back and offer praise and hope and solidarity—but which you will have to navigate in your own way.

It may be dark for a while. The divide may seem wide and the pain perhaps insufferable. But you will soldier on and survive. And after the darkness—I know this from experience—a healing light will come again. And I’ll be there for you.