Staying Human During Inhumane Times
If you’re finding it harder to stay hopeful, grounded, focused, or regulated, it’s likely not because you’re doing something wrong. It’s because you’re human, living inside systems that are deeply misaligned with human needs. The Stress isn’t abstract. It’s happening in real time. For many, uncertainty, grief, violence, disconnection, and exhaustion is unmistakably present right now.
Through the use of technology, the speed in which we receive information and communicate is faster than ever. We are repeatedly and consistently present with one breaking news story, or hot take, after another. Our algorithms are full of rage bait and we keep scrolling. We are seeing violence, without warning, on our screens en masse. Alongside that, there are still bills to pay, roles to hold, jobs to apply for, relationships to navigate, and bodies to care for.
Those of us who have worked on community-level health and social issues—and those of us who have studied marginalization through our own lived experience—know what it’s like to live with repetitive unrelenting stress. Many folks impacted by the justice system, violence in the home or neighborhood, poverty, and other traumatic experiences have been shouting that wellness often feels out of reach. At large, more of us must acknowledge that the social and political environment cannot be ignored when addressing individual and community well-being. I hope more of us can see this now that we are all being inundated in ways some never were before.
We are often encouraged to “take care of ourselves” or “have more discipline” as if well-being exists in a vacuum. No amount of early rising, morning routines, deep breathing, and mindset shifts can override the impact of chronic stress, injustice, or isolation. While individual practices can be supportive, they were never meant to carry the full weight of what many of us are holding.
Healing has never been a solo act. From a nervous system perspective, we regulate in relationship. From a cultural and ancestral perspective, healing has always lived in community. This occurs through shared movement, sounds, stories, grief, and even shared joy. Yet many of us are trying to survive in isolation. We teach each other to internalize struggle and call it resilience, while the systems continue to fail us. Is it any wonder we’re tired?
There’s a particular tension many of us are feeling right now: how to tend to personal well-being while navigating systems are feel harmful, unstable, or unresponsive. This can bring up guilt “How can I rest when so much is happening?” It can bring numbness and apathy “What’s the point of caring when it feels endless?” Or it can bring disconnection, pulling away, because it feels safer than staying open and tending to relationships.
I want us all to believe that caring for self does not have to result in betrayal of collective responsibility. Rest does not have to be avoidance. Pleasure is not apathy. Grounding is not giving up. There are ways we can stay connected enough to keep showing up, while tending to our own needs.
In the community spaces I’ve been part of—therapy rooms, yoga mats, classrooms, and community meeting rooms—I’ve seen how healing often happens discreetly and collectively. It happens when people are allowed to arrive as they are. When bodies are welcomed without performance. When grief is named instead of drowned out. When laughter shows up unexpectedly. When someone realizes they’re not alone in what they’re experiencing. These moments don’t fix the world. But they help us stay human inside of it.
Supporting wellbeing in times like these doesn’t just require grand gestures or perfect systems. It’s the sustainable things that matter. For individuals: Notice what the body is asking for. Identify people and places where you don’t have to explain or perform. Move, breathe, or sit alongside others. Create boundaries between your personal life and your work life. Act within your capacity to speak out and help community. For organizations: Clearly communicate and often. Establish policies and practices that allow people the means to survive (compensation, time off, training, grace, etc). Create budgets that support human capital, but don’t put budgets over people. Be willing to implement based on listening to and including those most impacted by the problems you’re trying to address. Use your power to advocate for humane policy change. Hold those in power accountable.
Wellness isn’t about being okay all the time. It’s about staying present and connected. Staying in right relationship, with yourself and with others, even when things are hard. If the world feels heavy right now, that doesn’t necessarily mean you need to try harder. It might mean it’s time to lean into community, however that looks for you. To remember that care is shared. That healing is relational. And that tending to yourself is one way of tending to the collective.
In times like these, community is not a bonus. It’s how we resist and persist.
