Welcome to The Check-In, a candid weekly conversation about the extraordinary times we're living in, a period marked by increasing authoritarianism and pervasive global trauma. It's a testament to the sheer weight of daily news that finding moments of joy and maintaining one's well-being has become a deliberate act of resistance. How do we navigate this relentless onslaught of disturbing headlines without being utterly consumed?
The Toll of Trauma: Observing, Not Absorbing
The start of this year felt like a struggle, a dark period defined by an unrelenting absorption of every shocking headline. It's easy to get caught in a cycle of constant vigilance, dedicating every ounce of energy to following political developments and global crises. This can lead to profound exhaustion, reaching a point where the body and mind can no longer sustain the emotional burden. The question of antidepressants, or simply finding new boundaries, becomes paramount.
The shift from "absorbing" to "observing" is a critical distinction. It’s about creating intentional "domes" of protection, recognizing that constant immersion in the negativity serves only to feed the very machine designed to crush us. This machine, whether it's an autocratic regime or a broader movement, aims to make us small, fearful, and anxious. Our response, then, must be one of nourishment, rest, time outdoors, and connection with people who uplift us. It’s about engaging in activities that lift the spirit when external forces are trying to drag us down.
There’s a natural guilt that can arise from seeking joy amidst such suffering. "Should I be happy? Should I be laughing?" This shame, the feeling that if we're not constantly consumed by anger, rage, or grief, we're not truly engaged, is a thief. It robs us of the very nourishment and grounding needed to sustain ourselves.
Grace, Shame, and the Illusion of Perfection
This internal struggle highlights the vital concept of grace. We must extend ourselves grace, acknowledging that we've never collectively experienced this unique cocktail of pressures: an autocrat running America, widespread scrolling trauma, and an ongoing genocide—all happening simultaneously. Capitalism often tells us to "power through," but at some point, it becomes unsustainable without self-inventory and a conscious effort to prioritize physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being.
Therapy often emphasizes that perfection is not the goal. Instead, it's about finding and lengthening moments of being authentically "in self." Shame, however, immediately pulls us out of this. It makes us judge ourselves for falling short, for not being our "best true self" at all times. Yet, this is simply part of being human.
For many, the current political climate can feel eerily familiar, especially for those who experienced "dictators" in their own homes or other institutions during childhood. As children, standing up to such figures often meant more violence or unmet needs. As adults, the challenge is to learn how to advocate for ourselves, but without succumbing to shame over past coping mechanisms or the process of healing itself. Healing is often described as "flying a plane while building it," leading to days of progress interspersed with feelings of hopelessness. The key is to nurture the moments of growth while extending empathy to our past selves and our present struggles.
The Masking Epidemic: Why Authenticity is Revolutionary
One of the profound challenges is that society doesn't teach us how to genuinely love ourselves. We are creatures that follow what is modeled for us, and if self-love and nourishment aren't modeled, we often assume everyone else is "totally fine" while we suffer internally. This leads to masking behavior—wearing shields and projecting an image of composure, believing that everyone else "powers through" without breakdowns.
Social media, in particular, has amplified this. Its early days often fostered dread and self-loathing as we scrolled through curated images of others' "shiny, happy" lives, accomplishments, and successes. This created a dynamic where we unwittingly acted as each other's jailers, presenting an unreal version of ourselves. Even when success comes, it can communicate to others that they're not doing well, while internally, the person achieving it might be "torn apart" and terrified.
Now, however, something is shifting. When we see someone relentlessly performing, like a used car salesman or a real estate agent, an alarm goes off. We question: are they truly okay, or are they deeply wounded and hiding it? Or, more disturbingly, are they complicit, perfectly fine with fascism as long as it benefits their pocketbook?
In this moment, authenticity has become a deeply valued trait. To witness someone openly expressing their feelings, including the "ugly" and "hurtful" ones, allows for a rare intimacy—the very opposite of fascism, which demands a veneer of invulnerability. Those who continue to uphold this veneer are either terrified of letting it go or utterly delusional about reality.
The Great Reveal: Unmasking Institutions and Global Indifference
This period is a "reveal"—of individuals, yes, but also of institutions. We no longer have to pretend that the Democratic Party is here to "save us" or that they are a party of genuine resistance. They are showing us who they are, and as Maya Angelou famously said, "when people show you who they are, believe them." It's time to stop expending energy on illusions that make us feel good, and instead, confront the reality being shown.
The most agonizing "reveal" is arguably the global response to Gaza. For the first time, major legacy media outlets like The New York Times are featuring Gaza prominently, with entire front pages dedicated to the crisis. This comes after hundreds of thousands of people have died, after countless images of skeletal babies held by devastated mothers have permeated social media. It took this unimaginable level of death and suffering for mainstream media to ask questions and for governments worldwide to finally recognize Palestinian statehood and humanity.
The popular narrative that the genocide "started on October 7th" is a dangerous simplification, ignoring decades of occupation, oppression, and dehumanization. The world's "appetite for truth and integrity" has been remarkably low, as acknowledging the truth would force a difficult self-reflection: "What part have I played here?" It's easier to bury heads in the sand, claiming no responsibility.
Yet, this collective outrage, this "roar," is emerging. The agonizing question remains: how much death, how much looking away, how much trauma can a global society tolerate before it truly embodies the cry of "never again," which too often feels like a mere bumper sticker? These conversations are vital not just for geopolitical analysis, but for humanizing the unimaginable pain and fostering a deeper understanding of our collective responsibility.
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