If you're finding yourself overwhelmed, you aren’t alone.

Of course there's the election results from last week, the uncertainty of our current circumstance; the crushing unease of it all. But even this isn’t happening within a vacuum.

We still have to go to work, wash the dishes, give the doggos their medications, and call our moms or our children or others we love.

Your overwhelm isn’t a personal failing or proof of your lack of resilience – it’s a feature built into our keep-on-producing culture. Your exhaustion isn’t because you need to try harder – it’s the natural outcome of living at the intersections of multiple crises.

We are collectively living in the midst of a disillusioning moment.

A moment when the illusions of “how the world works” and "everything will be fine" become unbelievable for a large number of people, all at once. When the veil is pulled back and we realize, both at the personal and collective levels, that the stories we’ve been telling don’t quite match the realities we’ve been weaving. When we have to continue the mundane, everyday tasks of our lives while carrying the immense and existential heaviness of a world quaking beneath our feet.

It is deeply uncomfortable – and yes, exhausting, overwhelming, and intensely and intimately touched by despair and grief.

But here is what community organizers and trauma specialists teach us:

It is by metabolizing our experiences of disillusionment and despair that we can take next steps of healing and repair.

Gently notice how your body is handling the charge of this moment.

Notice your muscle tension and your angst; your tears, the ones cried and the ones that haven't fallen yet. Pay attention to the ways your body is asking you to move, to rest, to release, to hold. Recognize what this moment feels like in your bones and in the narratives spinning through your mind.

The way you experience disillusionment is a love letter to yourself.

Each of these responses is your body’s way of saying: this is important and you are important. That you aren’t distant from this moment – that, in fact, you are intimately connected with it. Every time you feel your breath catch or that perhaps-now-familiar feeling of tightness in your chest is a reminder that you are part of something bigger than just yourself and that you care.

And in this way, your experience of this disillusioning moment is also a love letter to the world: to your people, to your communities, and even to the people you have not met yet and will never know.

So feel your exhaustion and find ways to rest for a bit. Feel the overwhelm and cry the tears this moment deserves. Feel the quaking and attune to your posture and your balance.

When we become dis-illusioned, we become more able to see the world with soft eyes – and act with fierce and focused attention.

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❓ Questions

1. What have you done in the past week, or what can you do this week, to move your body in a way that feels good and releases energy?
2. Who can you reach out to and check in with about how they're experiencing this moment? (I highly recommend you do this. And if you don't, another question: why not?)

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🧰 Resources

• ​The sunrise, in the midst of hard things, by Kaitlin Curtice (IG)
• ​What form of activism fits this moment for you? (IG)
• ​Gather your community to process and commit to next steps. (An easy gathering toolkit and agenda from the social movement project, Worth Fighting For)

Hope all is well-enough with you,

Andrew IG: @andrewglang​

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