Feeling the Weight of 2025: Navigating Uncertainty and Collective Pain

Things are not normal right now. And like many Americans, I'm not okay.

I’ve written before about the devastation happening to education and disability rights, but it’s only part of a much bigger picture. Every day, I hesitate to even open social media or glance at the news. It feels like an endless cycle of loss and uncertainty, and it's taking a collective toll on our mental health. We're all feeling it, and acknowledging that is so important.

In the beginning, I was mostly filled with disbelief. I’ve always trusted my intuition, and I sensed that 2025 would be challenging for us as a country. But even with that intuition, watching it all unfold feels like waking up from a nightmare every single day—desperately hoping things haven’t gotten worse. I would ask myself, "What can I do to stop this?" I reached out to legislators, wrote blogs to educate others, and did what I could to push back.

But something has shifted. The emotional toll feels heavier, deeper, and harder to carry. It’s like grief, but somehow different. It’s a continuous mourning of what’s being stripped away—opportunities, protections, essential rights. And it’s affecting all of us—collectively. The anxiety, fear, and sadness we feel aren’t just individual reactions. They are part of a shared experience in a country that feels increasingly unstable.

As someone who strives to be a change agent, I feel the weight of how much change we’ve been asked to process. As a country, we have been dealt an enormous amount of change, much of it without clear reasoning or explanation. Regardless of whether you agree with the changes or not, the sheer volume of upheaval leaves us feeling unsettled, anxious, and struggling to find our footing. The human brain craves stability and certainty, and right now, we are all operating without either.

The weight of everything makes it hard to focus. Most days, I’m at home with the teens, managing the household, and trying to keep up with contract work. But even that feels impossible some days. When I have a moment to myself, I often find myself just staring into space, feeling overwhelmed by it all.

Some days, all I can do is the bare minimum. I lay in bed, trying to process, comprehend, and find a path forward for my family and myself. I need those days to recharge because I know my voice matters. We all matter. And on the days I can find my strength, I share my story—to humanize the impacts of everything that’s happening.

But it’s hard. I feel sad. I feel overwhelmed. I feel powerless. And I feel angry.

This isn’t a partisan issue. It’s about human rights and protecting our future. It’s about ensuring everyone—regardless of their background or abilities—has the opportunity to thrive. Fundamental rights shouldn’t be up for debate or subject to political whims.

Small Things You Can Do to Get Through the Day

1. Limit social media if you need to. As an empath, I can only handle so much.

2. Surround yourself with friends and family. Find comfort in connection.

3. Move your body—whatever works for you to feel grounded. For me, it’s taking walks in the forest.

4. Make time for what brings you joy. For me, it’s building Legos. Even when we are exhausted, taking time for a simple date—just stepping away—makes a difference.

5. If you see a friend struggling, reach out. Let them know they’re not alone. If they are speaking out on an issue that you agree with, recognize their efforts so they don't feel isolated.

6. If you need help yourself, find a therapist or reach out to your doctor. Asking for help is not weakness—it’s courage.

7. It’s okay to cut back and prioritize yourself. Make space to recharge.

8. Give yourself grace. These are not normal times, and we can’t expect ourselves to function as if they are.

9. Practice mindfulness or meditation if that helps you find calm.

10. Allow yourself to feel whatever you’re feeling, without judgment. It’s okay to not be okay.

It feels like we’ve moved from disbelief to a deeper sense of loss and frustration. Just yesterday, a friend messaged me, saying, "It’s hard to function right now. It’s hard to see everything you’ve worked toward—everything you believe in—stripped away."

I’m glad she reached out because we need to talk about what this is doing to our collective mental health. You are not alone in feeling lost or overwhelmed. This isn’t just personal; it’s shared. We are all feeling the effects of this shifting world, and it’s impacting our mental health in ways that can’t be ignored.

The reality is, we’re all trying to navigate a relentless wave of change. It’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to feel afraid. And it’s okay to reach out. We need to create spaces where it’s safe to admit we’re struggling—where we can support one another without judgment or shame.

I also worry about what this is doing to our children. A friend shared that her elementary-age daughter said, "This is all you talk about. Should I be worrying about my future?" And that frightens me more than anything.

What do we tell them? At first, I wasn’t explaining much, but I know they overheard. Now, I wonder—how do we help our kids feel safe in a world that doesn’t feel safe? In a world we don’t understand. What are we teaching them through all of this?

We must keep talking about our mental health, acknowledging the ways we are all being affected, and supporting one another through the uncertainty. No one should feel like they have to bear this weight alone. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to admit you’re struggling. And it’s more than okay to take the time you need to rest and heal.

We are stronger when we face this together.

What’s helping you stay grounded right now? How are you showing up for yourself and your loved ones? And how can we collectively create a safer, kinder world for our kids despite everything?

I don’t have all the answers, but I believe in the power of community and vulnerability. I'm here if you need me. 

With love, Lane