When the World Feels Unsteady: Navigating the Emotional Toll of Political Upheaval
/It’s no secret that the current sociopolitical climate carries a heavy emotional charge.
For many, the relentless pace of news cycles, the escalation of divisive rhetoric, and the erosion of civil discourse are more than passing stressors — they are persistent, deeply personal stress responses that reverberate through the nervous system.
Therapists are increasingly seeing clients presenting with symptoms that mirror trauma responses — hypervigilance, emotional fatigue, disconnection, and profound grief — all triggered not by singular personal events, but by a chronic sense of instability in the external world. This isn’t surprising. The human brain and body are wired to detect threat, and when the structures that are meant to ensure fairness, justice, and collective care feel tenuous or hostile, the impact is not just intellectual — it’s physiological.
For those who hold multiple identities, exist in spaces of cultural tension, or have lived experience navigating marginalization, this strain can be compounded. Public policy debates often touch private wounds. Legislation that dictates whose rights are protected, whose stories are told, and whose lives are seen as valid sends messages that land far below the level of language.
Even those who consciously value nuance, openness, and respect can find themselves feeling dysregulated — caught between wanting to remain informed and engaged, and feeling emotionally flooded by the content they consume. The nervous system doesn’t distinguish between a direct threat and a perceived one. It responds exactly as it should to a world that increasingly feels unsafe. And over time, chronic activation without relief can lead to symptoms of tension, anxiety, overwhelm, burnout, even despair. The weight of wondering if you’re doing enough, or if you’re allowed to take a break.
This is not a sign of weakness. It’s a nervous system issue as much as it is an emotional one.
This kind of stress doesn’t just live in your head. It lives in your shoulders, your stomach, your sleep patterns. It affects your relationships, your focus, your ability to rest. And for folks who have trauma histories — especially relational or developmental trauma — these times can bring old wounds closer to the surface. That sense of vigilance, of scanning for threat, of waiting for the other shoe to drop… that’s not new for a lot of people. It’s just more activated right now. Lately, a lot of my clients are bringing the same question into session — not directly, but underneath their words: How am I supposed to be okay right now?
What I want people to know is that caring a lot doesn’t mean you’re supposed to carry it all. This is especially true for people who are deeply open-hearted, who care about justice, and inclusion, and humanity; in this current environment, they can find themselves burned out, disconnected, or shutting down. That doesn’t mean you don’t care. It means your system is asking for support. Sometimes that support looks like boundaries. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it means finding tools that actually speak the language of your nervous system — not just the thinking part of your brain.
That’s why I turn to EMDR and Havening — not because they’re trendy, but because they speak to the body in its own language. These therapies offer a way to gently unwind what’s been carried for far too long. They reach places talk therapy alone often can’t, giving the brain and body a chance to truly metabolize stress and trauma — not just think differently about it, but feel differently, in a way that lasts.