Our Unsustainable Fear

I’ve spent the better half of a month offline. I have not read or listened to the news. I have not doom-scrolled social media. To outsiders looking in, this will appear very privileged; however, I have keenly felt and witnessed the headlines and the outrage. For some of us, the stories that felt distant–the ones that fueled our activism against all things MAGA and Project 2025–are now our reality. While I am unable to go into details because these stories are not mine to share, I can attest that our very worst fears are realized. Our collective fear, however, is unsustainable.

My neighborhood is not safe from ICE raids, my friends and family are not safe from the consequences of abortion bans or losing their federally funded medical research jobs, and none of us are immune to the institutional and systemic harm this new era of America is perpetuating. It is much bigger than grocery prices or the stock market. It is our very lives. So how do we move out of survival mode and find productive ways to function and help one another?

This is the question I have been living, pondering, meditating on for the past few weeks. The committees I sit on, the groups and communities I belong to, the life that I have built have always been a way to extend resources and make positive change outside of and within online spaces. By stepping away from my online community for a pause, I am not sure that the fear and urgency stoked there has done myself or anyone any service. It has informed me, it has raised funds, it has shared meaningful resources, but it has perpetuated a cycle of fear that will not shake us out of this moment. We all know how awful social media is for our collective mental health, but it has also caused massive harm to public health in general via the spread of misinformation that leads to an uninformed and unfeeling legislature. 

We have become a reactive society that sustains itself on fear and hate. After much reflection, I have noticed that the less reactive I am to the outrageous news cycle, the more responsive I become. When our worst fears are realized and executed before our eyes, it is clear that we need more than mobilization. We can build safeguards and create sanctuary states and spaces, but we are unable to diffuse the spiral of hate sweeping through our society if we operate on fear and rage, alone.

After years of organizing, of adopting roles of leadership in online activism spaces and offline community spaces, of writing and blasting the constant cascade of reactive thoughts to the world, I feel the physical, mental, and emotional toll of it all. And when I walk out my door and see that my very worst fears have been realized in my own community, I know that it did not happen because I didn’t do enough. It happened because myself and people like me did too much.

Rather than building a sustainable community, we shared and screamed into the void and received likes and follows and accolades that lacked true connection and understanding. The constant commentary without actual restorative practices in place has led us to the brink of burnout—and I am not just referring to online spaces and relationships, but our personal and physical relationships to the land we live on and each other.
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Do you know your neighbors? I am fortunate enough to have strong relationships with the people who live in my immediate neighborhood. We bring each other meals, sit in each other’s living rooms, walk each other’s dogs, play with each other’s kids, talk about life, go for walks and bike rides, celebrate birthdays, etc. And in the past few months we have gotten closer. We have an unspoken understanding that we need each other now, more than ever. This community is not built off of political interest, activism, or group therapy, as most online spaces are. It is built from existing beside one another and building trust. These are the social safety nets we need at this time.

But what of our internal safety nets? For me, books have always been my place of refuge. At the precipice of internal struggle, I turn to books. I have read over 20 books since November 6, 2024. The average length hovers around 390-450 pages. Historical Fiction and Fantasy only. Why? Because I am searching for something that I cannot find or fathom in the “real world,” as I always have. It has led to copious amounts of notes and journal entries, art projects and lengthy bouts of true quiet and peace. And from this internal safety net, alone, I have relearned how to stabilize my reactive lizard-brain through critical thinking and storytelling. Why is this important? Because it allows my actions to be informed responses instead of  impulsive clapbacks. Rather than slapping a bandaid on an issue of great import, I am focused on cleaning out the wound and ensuring long-term health. I am paying attention to the leaders who have sustainable solutions rather than haphazardly shifting from one cause to the next or adding to the chatter of news feeds built from echo chambers.

The fear does not go away, but our response to it becomes more sustainable and effective when we allow ourselves to be held by both our internal and external safety nets. By doing so, we also provide a safe harbor for others in times of crisis. 

My local library has become the link between my social safety net and my internal safety net. It has allowed me to give to my wider community, and to partake in community through book sharing, seed banks, and social interaction. When I walk into the library, I know that I am safe and held. I know that everyone is safe and held; from the veterans who utilize meeting rooms, the unhoused community members who search for jobs and resources in the computer labs, the newcomers who bring their kiddos to multilingual play circles, and kids who come to play games on the computers. When I am in the library, I am not afraid.

As I sit here, typing away, I know that it is only a matter of minutes before I feel a pang of terror streak through my thoughts. And yet, that terror will not rule my life, my day, my heart rate as it once did. It cannot. I cannot allow it to control how I show up in the world today, tomorrow, or the next day. None of us can. We must invest our time and energy into our communities, into our relationships with one another and the Self now, more than ever. It is easy to talk about in online spaces, but a lot more difficult to follow through once we log out. By taking space and time to restore our energy and our focus, we are not ignoring all of the bad news, we are processing it and lending our energy toward sustainable solutions that may take years to activate, but will have long term impact.

I leave you with these questions:

Where does your external safety-net exist?

In what ways have you fostered an internal safety-net/place of refuge?