Am I a bad person for tuning out the news?
*some names have been changed*
Two weeks ago, Jon and I attended a perfectly executed Summer wedding in rural Vermont— a celebration where the couple actually really loved each other (my favorite kind of nuptial!). After a heartfelt ceremony, my open-toed platforms confidently held me in lush grass as I sipped a bright orange cocktail. In the glow of a sun sinking behind one magenta cloud and a family of sheep, a friend looked up from his phone and said quietly, “oh my god, we just bombed Iran.”
Our small circle froze, nervous systems registering the horrifying news. I felt a pull to dive nose-first into my phone, but didn’t exactly want to detach from this precious celebration. Uncomfortably, we chose to suppress the information— to keep it from the happy grooms, not wanting to stain their gorgeous moment. And then we were called to join the reception space turned dance floor. A disco ball cascaded beams of light through multi-colored garlands as unsuspecting friends coaxed us to drop our things and let go. Uneasy, Jon and I made our way to the dance floor, and pressed ourselves to move at the music’s behest, grossly aware we were dancing on a changed planet.
It’s challenging not to acknowledge the despair just under the surface of every nice moment right now. Whenever I’m not distracted by my immediate To Do list, I’m in a steady state of worry about at-risk families in the US and overseas, wondering, how exactly do we get out of this? Or how do I convince people to care about communities other than their own? It only takes two eyes and a working heart to know that things are not good— so much evil has so much power. The thought of the world’s starving and terrorized children makes me sick; and my level of inaction makes me sicker. I point fingers at my schedule. I’m a working toddler mom in graduate school, having recently befriended burnout. Have I made enough calls to my representatives? Is it okay that I missed the No Kings protest to be with my kid? Who and what do I need to take care of? An old expert in self loathing, I slip into shame. Which is why turning off the news can feel like self care, until I remember how many real people are experiencing the horrors on my television in 3D without my magic silver remote to remove themselves. I’m reminded that self loathing and shame are still kinda narcissistic, especially if my avenue for healing is by fully detaching from reality.
One of my favorite slogans is “You can’t pour from an empty cup.” I like it because it suggests two truths. The first being, we must ensure our own needs are met before we can effectively care for someone else’s. The second truth is that— the ultimate goal is to pour. For someone else. Humanity at its best has always looked like banding together to care for those with less.
I was recently struck by a Substack post by
that perfectly captured how I feel about my own mental health right now.
If too much doomscrolling turns you into a useless slug, I get it. Same here. Sometimes I need a break. But because society can’t afford for us to completely disassociate, I want to offer some little motivations that have helped me keep going lately— just a few mental post-it notes I’ve collected that help me fill up so that I have more to give:
1. thinkin’ about Tom
In my mid twenties, I befriended a sixty year old man named Tom while volunteering at a women’s prison. Tom had salty receding hair, and walked chest first à la Ricky Ricardo. His signature black jacket was almost as leathery as his skin, and his warm brown eyes moistened every time he proudly announced his decades old sobriety date. Tom, passionate about sharing his immaterial wealth, dedicated his life to bringing recovery meetings to inmates and their loved ones. When asked why he made so much time for volunteering, he’d respond, “It’s selfish, I promise. Being of service is just what keeps me sober.” To Tom, there was no greater high than seeing someone in-need receive quality care. Proof that showing up for someone else falls under the self care umbrella.
Tom taught me that service and self-care are loving brothers. My heart was shattered into a million pieces when, once Covid hit, and all of Tom’s service positions came to a screeching halt, he relapsed and lost his life. Helping others is literally what kept him alive. Setting up chairs. Making calls. Hugging the forgotten. Pouring for others somehow filled up his own cup, like a high-end magic trick. A brilliant human being and friend I like to think of when I’m feeling doubt in the human race. I like knowing that now you’re thinking of him too.
2. Enjoy this list of Positive Affirmations, mixed with Things My Toddler’s Said Recently. (And guess which is which!)
You’re doing such a good job. And I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.
This plate is very angry.
The secret to being loved is to love.
Mama’s toe needs a new battery.
You are brave for trying something new. Bravo!
Can you fly? Please?
You are bigger than what’s making you anxious.
I’m gonna fart tonight.
Pain is never permanent.
I’m grateful for the wind chime.
3. the BFF list
If I wake up believing all is completely hopeless, my productivity tanks. If I’m struggling to get out of bed, odds are I’m not checking in on friends or calling senators— because everyone and everything sucks when I’m depressed.
But here’s an exercise that consistently drags me out of that meaningless muck: I make a quick list of five to ten friends. And then I write down a favorite memory or trait I love about them. That’s it. It really works.
The exercise is effective even if one of these friends is kinda on my nerves. Actually, it’s especially effective if one of them is kinda on my nerves! We’re rarely encouraged to gush about our friends. Only for life event celebrations. Or funerals. How limiting! A compliment list is a practice that works my loving muscle, the antidote to destructive resentments and despair. I’ll do one now using the last seven friends to text me:
Jackie: Nobody is better at responding to your feelings of grief. Nobody. When everyone else sends copy-and-pasted style texts that read, “I’m sorry for your loss,” Jackie would rather get right in your gut with you and write, “NOOOO!!! What the fuck!!!!!” When I was freaked out waiting for biopsy results, she put me at ease by saying, “If you have cancer we’ll make it fun. You’ll get a great boob job and lots of attention. It’ll be amazing!” When they say “laughter is the best medicine” they’re talking about Jackie.
Kate: It is impossible to hear Kate share on a topic she’s passionate about without being completely captivated and inspired. I will always buy what she’s selling. You’d be crazy not to. She can and will brilliantly put your problem in its true perspective when you need it. I love the way she instantly notices if I’m wearing something new, and how she recognizes the dumb mannerisms I’ve had since I was sixteen. Lastly, I wish it weren’t totally inappropriate for me to publicly detail the story of when she told off my ex boyfriend.
Rosie: Rosie is ready to fucking celebrate you. She will show up to your party and enthusiastically stay ’til the very end. She is also the friend most fun to text about any tiny thing that pops into your head. She and I send outfit pics to each other every single time we’re getting ready to leave the house for events (or even just a coffee date if the outfit is particularly chic). She is also a riveting storyteller as evidenced by this screenshot:
Jacob: A few years ago, after Jacob vacationed in a beautiful Brazilian beach town, he shared with me that he wanted to move there indefinitely. My husband Jon added, “Too bad you can’t go live in paradise.” Jacob shot Jon a sharp look and said, “Why not?” Months later, Jacob did move to that paradisic town in Brazil. He now speaks Portuguese, and has an entire new community of loving friends. Jacob reminds me that a new world is always available if we seek it. A friend since middle school, he has loved me at every awkward stage. We are both germaphobic, I Love Lucy-loving Scorpios with moons in Sagittarius, and there isn’t enough space here to say what he means to me.
Eden: Eden was my husband’s friend first, but she ditched him for me the moment she cold FaceTimed my phone instead of his to rave about my Tony Soprano impression. She loves to remind me how hard I’m working, and was one of those rare friends who seemed to truly understand how demanding motherhood was before she had her own baby— going on long walks with me around the reservoir for what felt like every day of my pregnancy, and every day of Claude’s newbornhood. Lastly, when she offered to drive me and Jon to the airport to get married, she showed up on our street with Chapel of Love by the Dixie Cups blasting out her open windows— because she is thoughtful, and excellent at setting a vibe.
Abby: The quickest to answer or return a phone call, and the most optimistic about your dire situation. Whenever I’m feeling repulsed by materialism or the superficial BS running rampant in Hollywood, Abby is my breath of fresh air. She also has a weird superpower where celebrities just approach her and start talking to her— like they need a break from yes people or social climbers, and can smell how genuine she is. She is the friend I’m most confident in introducing to others because she’s everybody’s cup of tea.
Lindsay: Lindsay is gentle and witchy. This is a bold statement, but, sometimes I think Lindsay is the only person on planet earth I can actually trust. This witch is loyal. I’ve seen her have opportunities to spill or talk shit, and she absolutely will not. She doesn’t even seem tempted. There is nothing too embarrassing or vulnerable for me to share with her, because everything I say and do just seems to make her love me more. She also thinks I’m hilarious. And I like that.
4. On Influencers and Responsibility
I’ve seen an uptick in influencers cosplaying as mental health experts while they subtly encourage their massive following to completely tune out social justice issues in the name of “peace” and self care. And every single one of these influencers fits my demo: I’m straight, white, able-bodied, cisgendered, and I really really like cute shit and posting pictures of myself when I feel cute. I don’t have tangible concerns about my kid going hungry, or my family being taken by masked losers. Of course, these influencers and I all have fears and problems like any human being, but the outcome of elections only somewhat affects our lives personally. So, yes! To be perfectly honest, I’ve been tempted to opt out of civic duties by basically saying to myself, “I’m not a fighter! I don’t align with ‘either side.’ I want to be too enlightened to engage in conflict.” That sentiment could be lovely if the “two sides” were somehow referring to two parties with equal power who simply didn’t get along. But instead, one “side” systematically murders the other. Murder is a strong word choice. I know. Quite a few people don’t like when I use it. But we can’t afford not to call it what it is. Poverty is violent. And I’m lucky to only witness it from afar. Police brutality, people with illnesses losing their healthcare, policies that widen the income inequality gap— these are just some of the ways poor people are systematically murdered. How then, is it not distasteful and wildly irresponsible for any person with all the information (whose job is to literally influence large groups of impressionable people) to proudly exclaim, “Let’s not take sides” ??? It’s not a wiser or more enlightened approach; it’s an attempt to put a positive spin on the words, “I don’t care enough.”
If you follow a popular account, and they’re vocal about being politically inactive or “neutral,” I encourage you to express your disappointment. So, when you’re done calling your reps, DM your influencers— they have power too.
Did that all come across as too shame-y? I’m sorry. I know shaming people rarely changes behavior. I’m working on my delivery. And I’ll try to soften now, in an effort to welcome said influencers to “this side.” It’s the only side, I promise! Hang out with us! We’ll welcome you! You’ll sleep better at night! And look! We can still be cliché white women who love pretty things and cute pics! There’s space for both. We can post photos of mirror selfies and also call out what is undeniably fucked up. Here, I’ll prove it. The rest of this post will be the cute stuff that we materialistic bitches love— curated snaps of a vacation I had with my hunky husband and angelic toddler:
Thank you for this, needed these reminders and, also, the beautiful writing
(From another germaphobic, I Love Lucy-loving Scorpio with moon in Sagittarius)
I love how you love your friends!! It reminds me to stay grounded and be grateful for my girlies too!!!♥️