When the World Feels Heavy: Staying Engaged Without Burning Out or turning away
Continuing to love, live, help, and show up — imperfectly and humanly
I’m sharing this as a therapist, a parent, and a human trying to navigate a world that often feels unbearably heavy.
I want to be clear: violence, hatred, and the loss of innocent life are never acceptable. What we are witnessing—most recently in Minnesota, and in so many places before that—is devastating. The grief, anger, fear, and heartbreak people are carrying are real and justified. I feel it too.
I had a post ready to share this week about youth sports—about performance, motivation, joy, and what I’m watching unfold in my own kids as they explore who they are and what they love. It reflects so much of the work I do with adolescents and adults in my practice.
But it didn’t feel right to share it without first acknowledging the collective weight so many of us are carrying.
There are moments when the world demands our attention—and this is one of them. Political chaos, violence, and the suffering of families and communities should not be ignored. And at the same time, many of us are still being asked to show up for daily life.
We’re raising kids.
Going to work.
Taking care of our physical and mental health.
Trying to stay connected to the people we love.
And that brings up a hard, often unspoken question:
Is it okay to keep showing up for my life when so much harm and suffering exist?
The Pull Toward Extremes
In times of collective trauma, people often get pulled toward one of two extremes.
Staying constantly plugged in.
Endless news. Constant scrolling. Feeling pressure to witness everything, respond to everything, and say the “right” thing. While this often comes from care, it can quickly turn into anxiety, emotional overload, and burnout.
Avoiding altogether.
Turning away. Not wanting to know. Not talking about it because it feels overwhelming or unsafe. While this may offer short-term relief, long-term avoidance often leads to disconnection or guilt.
Neither extreme is sustainable.
And landing somewhere in between doesn’t mean you don’t care.
The Cost of Shame-Based Messaging
Lately, I’ve noticed messaging—sometimes subtle, sometimes explicit—that suggests if you’re still running, parenting with joy, training, or tending to your own life, you’re complicit or indifferent.
I’ve also noticed how quickly people are told to “unfollow” when someone isn’t as publicly vocal as expected.
As a therapist and a mother, this concerns me.
Shame is not a pathway to healing or meaningful change. It doesn’t build empathy or sustained engagement—it creates paralysis, defensiveness, and burnout.
We also don’t know what’s happening behind closed doors. We don’t know who is writing representatives, donating quietly, supporting affected families, having hard conversations with their kids, or doing everything they can just to stay emotionally present.
Public silence is not the same as private inaction.
And public posting is not the only measure of care.
The Middle Space
There is a middle space that doesn’t get talked about enough.
This isn’t about minimizing harm or looking away. It’s about recognizing that people process and respond differently—and that caring deeply doesn’t require abandoning your own humanity.
In my work, I sit with people who are living with terrifying cancer diagnoses, navigating divorce and financial stress, or enduring the long grief and uncertainty of IVF journeys. They are not disengaged from the world. They are carrying a lot already. What helps them stay connected isn’t more shame—it’s permission to care deeply and remain rooted in their lives.
This middle space allows people to:
Stay informed without becoming flooded
Care deeply without burning out
Continue showing up for their families, bodies, and work
Take action in ways that align with their values and capacity
This isn’t apathy.
It’s a form of caring that can last.
What Showing Up Can Look Like
Some people feel called to protest or speak publicly. Others show up through quieter, less visible means. Both matter.
Showing up might include:
Contacting your representatives and naming your values
Supporting organizations responding to violence and loss, including Minnesota-based community and mental health efforts
Checking in on people around you
Having honest, age-appropriate conversations with your kids
There is no single correct way to care.
Social Media: Power and Pressure
Social media can connect us—and it can also pressure us to perform our values.
Logging off doesn’t mean you don’t care.
Posting less doesn’t mean you’re disengaged.
Continuing to live your life doesn’t mean you’re untouched.
What matters is whether your engagement—online or offline—supports both your values and your ability to keep showing up.
Why Continuing to Live Still Matters
Laughing with your kids.
Going for a run.
Working toward goals.
Planning for the future—even cautiously.
These are not acts of denial.
They are ways of staying human in an inhumane moment.
Resilience isn’t pretending everything is fine. It’s staying connected to life while also holding grief, anger, and uncertainty.
For some, even small steps feel impossible right now—and that’s okay. There is no timeline and no expectation. Not collapsing under the weight of everything is, itself, a form of care.
Final Thoughts
There is no perfect response to the violence and heaviness in the world.
But this feels true:
Caring matters.
Showing up matters.
Staying human matters.
Quiet actions count.
Private grief counts.
Sustainable engagement counts.
And if this moment feels overwhelming, reaching out for support isn’t weakness—it’s one way of making sure you can continue showing up for what matters most.
