To all my friends and colleagues who give it their all, but just didn’t quite make it across the line: this is for you.

 

Credit: Thomas McMullan, North Belfast News

Everyone knows it takes a lot to win an election: planning, effort, dedication and a steadfast campaign team. Countless books and election strategies have been put together showcasing successful candidates and how they won. On the contrary, little has ever been penned on what it takes to lose. Of course, no one wants to read a strategy on ‘how to lose an election’ – why would they? – but wholesome advice (not hung on pity) on how to handle defeat and keep you truckin’ til the next time would be helpful for sure.

Six plus weeks after the local government elections, I jokingly said to someone that I thought I had PTSD from the count. They replied, “maybe you do.” This claim, of course, is a stretch, but there is something bordering embarrassment and devastation when you’ve thrown yourself out there to the electorate and whatever the myriad of reasons it doesn’t work out – it’s a sting that doesn’t leave you in an instant. 

After my electoral misfortune in early May of this year, I threw a few thoughts on a page, partly because I knew in four years’ time they would sustain me and partly because I’d melted enough poor souls during the process. So I thought I’d better turn to pen and paper instead.

Here are three pieces of advice I’ll hold onto the next time, and if you’re in the same position as me or toying with the idea of giving electoral politics a go, I hope you find them useful too:

 

1. Stay grounded

During my campaign I was conscious of the fact I was starting to idolise the idea of being elected before I even had my first batch of leaflets through doors. I reminded myself on more than a few occasions to ‘chill out’, knowing that unless I toned down the obsessiveness of it all, a potential defeat wouldn’t just stop me in my tracks, it would knock me off them altogether.

I’ve always known that idolatry guarantees the same outcome no matter the context, but it didn’t stop me getting carried away. Beware, whatever your idol, whether it be your job, career, partner, relationship, status or wealth, when it goes, you go with it. Wrap your identity in something beyond your control and you’re in for disappointment somewhere along the line. When I was reminded by a friend that Nicola Sturgeon was rejected at the polls on four occasions before getting to where she is now, I should have listened. I didn’t.

 

2. Lose with dignity (cry, if needs be)

No one can ever forget the “five Long years” tirade from Gavin Robinson after he beat Naomi Long for the East Belfast parliamentary seat in 2015: a lesson in the importance of being graceful in victory. By the same token it is important to be dignified in defeat – advice whispered in my ear by an election veteran when the transfers just weren’t stacking up.

I’ll never forget the nauseating feeling of having to tell my team, family (my wee mummy, unsure of how to fix the unfix-able, because after all that’s what mummies do) and party colleagues that I was calling it a day. Once the picture painted by those big intimidating whiteboards outside each count room told the story, I thought to myself, “Sh!t, here come the tears,” as I knew I had to start shaking hands and giving hugs on my way out.

There was not one part of me that wanted to do it, but I’m glad I did it. Nobody forgets a sore loser. I’m also glad that I gurned my way across the City Hall courtyard and into Ten Square bar. Winning a seat had genuinely meant so much to me, so I’m glad people got a glimpse of that.

(P.S. You’ll never see camaraderie from across the political spectrum until you lose, especially from those who have lost themselves – champions).

 

3. Stick it at it (like masking tape)

The 48 hours following the count I felt so defeated, although compounded by an awful hangover, I was exactly that: defeated – both literally and psychologically. “One week,” I keep uttering to myself, “You get one week to be absolutely raging, then you need to build a bridge and get over it.” Admittedly, it took slightly more than a week, but I got there.

One of the best moments throughout the campaign was seeing a wee boy with a physical disability experience so much joy from having a disabled-friendly swing installed after our team fought for it for some time. It’s a small thing, but it meant the world to him and his family – and also to me. That cemented for me in the weeks following the election that I needed to get myself back on the ballot, and I will.

In the famous words of Sr Mary Clarence (Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act 2), “If you wake up in the mornin’ and you can’t think of anything but singin’ first … then you’re supposed to be a singer. Girl.”

Now I can’t sing a note, but you get the point.