Remembering our Shared Humanity

February is usually when I reflect on romantic love, self-love, or relationships—how we connect, repair, and soften toward one another. But this year, moving forward as usual felt incomplete. There’s a large elephant in the room and ignoring it didn’t feel honest.

Many of us are living in a world that feels fractured—socially, emotionally, relationally. People are tired. Nervous systems are stretched thin. Conversations feel sharper. Certainty feels louder than discernment. Beneath it all, there’s an undercurrent of fear, grief, anger, or disorientation that’s difficult to put into words.

In my work, many clients have been expressing something similar:“I don’t have the bandwidth I used to.” “I don’t feel motivated to do much.” “How can I just go to work and pretend these things aren’t happening.”

Not everyone feels this way all the time—but many do, and often in quiet, private ways.

There’s a sense of being at capacity—less tolerance for noise, conflict, and emotional demand. This isn’t a personal failing or a lack of resilience. It’s a very human nervous-system response to prolonged uncertainty and stress. When we’re overloaded for too long, even small things can feel like too much.

In times like these, kindness can sound naïve. Humanity can feel fragile.

But from a psychological and nervous-system perspective, these are not soft ideals—they are stabilizing forces.

Kindness does not mean agreement.  Compassion does not mean passivity. And staying human does not require abandoning discernment or boundaries.

What we often witness during periods of division isn’t cruelty for cruelty’s sake—it’s dysregulation. Under stress, the nervous system narrows. Complexity collapses. People become symbols instead of individuals. Fear seeks certainty. Pain looks for somewhere to land. Someone to blame.

Remembering our shared humanity—especially when it’s hardest—is one way of resisting that collapse.

Humanity often shows up quietly:

• In allowing others to be more than a single opinion or moment

• In listening without the need to immediately correct

• In choosing restraint when outrage would be easier

• In staying regulated enough not to pass our fear or anger on to others

This isn’t about fixing the world.  It’s about not losing ourselves to it.

February doesn’t have to be about romanticized love or unconditional anything. Perhaps this year, it’s about staying present, staying grounded, and staying human—even when the world feels fractured.

If you find yourself feeling hardened, exhausted, or overwhelmed, there is nothing wrong with you. These are understandable responses to living in demanding times. The work—gently and imperfectly—is noticing where we can soften without collapsing, and where we can hold boundaries without dehumanizing.

As we move through this month, you might quietly reflect:

• Where am I feeling stretched thin?

• What helps me stay regulated in difficult conversations?

• What allows me to remain human—toward myself and others—when things feel uncertain?

There is no single right way to navigate this moment. But choosing kindness, dignity, and presence—again and again, in small ways—matters more than we often realize.

Skills for Staying Grounded in Fractured Times

These are not self-improvement tasks. They are nervous-system supports—small, human practices that help prevent overload from turning into hardening.

Name Capacity Honestly

Before responding—to a conversation, a request, or the news—pause and ask:

Do I have the bandwidth for this right now?

Reducing exposure is not avoidance; it’s regulation.

Slow the Body Before the Mind

When emotions spike, attend to the body first. A longer exhale, feet on the floor, or placing a hand on the chest can help signal safety before words are chosen.

Practice “Non-Transfer”

Notice when stress or fear wants to move outward. Ask: Is this mine to process—or am I about to pass it on?

Containment is an act of care.

Hold Boundaries Without Narratives

Boundaries don’t require justification or moral framing.

A simple “I’m not available for this conversation right now” can be enough.

Allow Complexity

When you feel the urge to reduce someone to a single behavior, belief, or moment, gently remind yourself: Humans are always more than their worst or loudest parts.

Return to What Regulates You

Identify one or two practices—movement, quiet, nature, rhythm, prayer, creativity—that reliably bring you back into yourself. Consistency matters more than intensity.



These are not solutions to the world’s problems.

They are ways of staying human while living inside them.