GROUND

Staying Human in the Age of Harrowing News: Naming What This Is - and What It Isn’t

There is a particular kind of sadness that doesn’t come from personal loss, but from witnessing what human beings are capable of doing to one another.

The recent release of disturbing files and revelations has stirred that sadness in many of us. Not because the details are sensational, though they are, but because they force us to look directly at suffering that should never have existed, and at systems that failed to protect the vulnerable. It’s not depression. It’s not weakness. It’s the natural response of a conscience that’s still alive.

What unsettles me most isn’t just what has been uncovered, but how easily the human nervous system can be overwhelmed by exposure to cruelty at scale. We weren’t built to hold the totality of the world’s darkness all at once. When we try, something in us either collapses … or hardens.

Neither is the answer.

So the real question becomes:

• How do we stay informed without becoming numb, enraged, or spiritually exhausted?

• How do we remain human in the presence of inhumanity?

First, let’s be clear about the emotional terrain.

This kind of sadness is moral grief. It arises when innocence is violated and accountability feels distant or incomplete. It’s the ache that comes from knowing better is possible, and seeing evidence that it wasn’t chosen.

Moral grief doesn’t mean you’re losing hope. It means you still care.

What becomes dangerous is when grief turns into:

• Endless rumination

• Performative outrage

• Helplessness masked as “staying informed”

• Or a steady drip of nervous system dysregulation

At that point, the news stops being information and starts becoming injury.

The Difference Between Witnessing and Consuming

There’s a quiet but crucial distinction between witnessing suffering and consuming it.

• Witnessing is deliberate. It’s conscious. It has boundaries

• Consuming is compulsive. It’s endless. It erodes presence

I don’t honor victims by repeatedly shocking my own nervous system. I honor them by staying awake, grounded, and capable of responding with clarity rather than chaos.

A simple question that I ask:

• Is what I’m doing right now increasing my capacity to care - or diminishing it?

If it’s the latter, it’s time to step back. That’s not avoidance. That’s stewardship.

Grounding in the Immediate and the Real

When the mind is flooded with stories of harm, the body often gets left behind. One of the most stabilizing things I do is return to what is immediately real:

• Feel my feet on the floor

• Notice my breath without trying to change it

• Touch something solid

• Step outside and look at something alive

Yesterday, I started a fire outside in the fire pit, and for hours, sat with it.

I watched the way the flame took its time, how it didn’t rush, didn’t apologize, didn’t dramatize its work. It simply responded to what was offered: air, wood, space. Some pieces caught quickly. Others resisted, then softened, then gave way. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was forced. Fire doesn’t deny destruction, but it doesn’t dwell on it either. It transforms what it touches and then moves on.

Sitting there, I felt my nervous system settle. The stories in my head loosened their grip. Not because they stopped mattering, but because they no longer needed to be held all at once. The body knows how to pace grief in a way the mind often forgets.

There was heat on my face. Cool air on my back. The sound of wood cracking. The simple relief of being present in a moment that asked nothing of me except to be there. This is how I remember that the world is not only what has been revealed, reported, or exposed. It is also what is quietly continuing, breath by breath, flame by flame, moment by moment.

• Staying human sometimes looks like sitting by a fire and letting your body remember what your mind cannot carry alone.

• This isn’t spiritual bypassing. It’s regulation.

• Presence begins in the body, not in analysis.

• The paradox is that grounding yourself doesn’t make you less compassionate, it makes compassion sustainable.

Choosing Where Your Attention Lives

Attention is a finite resource. Where you place it shapes who you become.

Staying informed does not require constant exposure. Set limits:

• Specific times to read the news

• Trusted sources only

• No late-night doom scrolling

Outside those windows, I have always been able to reclaim my attention for what nourishes life: movement, conversation, work done with care, service that’s tangible and local.

I know that I cannot fix everything. But I can participate fully in what’s in front of me. That matters more than we’re often led to believe.

Turning Sadness Into Something Useful

Sadness doesn’t need to be eliminated, it needs to be metabolized.

Ask yourself:

• Where can I act, even in a small way?

• Who can I support directly?

• What values do I want my daily life to embody in response to what I’ve seen?

Sometimes the most meaningful response to global darkness is to live locally with integrity, to be trustworthy, attentive, and kind in a world that desperately needs examples of that.

• Light doesn’t argue with darkness.

• It simply shows up.

Staying Open Without Breaking

There is a quiet strength in staying open without letting the world’s worst moments define your inner life. This doesn’t mean minimizing harm or looking away. It means refusing to let cruelty become the organizing principle of your consciousness.

• You are allowed to feel sadness and still experience beauty.

• You are allowed to grieve and still laugh.

• You are allowed to care deeply and still rest.

Staying human is not passive. It’s a practice.

And in times like these, it may be the most radical one we have.