How Not to Have a Breakdown While America Does

Why Your Self-Care is a Revolutionary Act

Trump is swinging his wrecking ball of chaos in every direction. Canada — our friendly, patient neighbor — is openly anxious, and not in a polite, hypothetical way. Their government is scrambling, bracing for economic retaliation in the form of new tariffs and an unraveling of once-stable alliances. The markets are wobbling. Inflation is creeping. Grocery prices are climbing like they’ve got somewhere urgent to be. American farmers, particularly in the Midwest, are watching their exports disappear into the void, all while the administration crows about “winning.”

Meanwhile, back at home, the collective nervous system of this country is fried. We are not okay. Fear is no longer an episodic visitor — it has unpacked its bags and moved into the guest room. People are hoarding medications, quietly Googling “how to get dual citizenship,” wondering if they can still access abortion care if they need it, if their trans friends will be able to get their prescriptions filled, if their Black and brown neighbors — neighbors like mine, like my two Black adult sons and the family I married into — will be safe from the empowered militia groups slinking out of the shadows. And all of it — the fear, the rage, the uncertainty — isn’t just intellectual. It’s physiological. Our bodies are absorbing this era in our tightened shoulders, our sleepless nights, our frayed tempers.

Then there’s Khalil’s case — an open wound in the conversation about power, justice, and who gets to be free. His story is not just a footnote. It is the whole damn text. It is proof of what happens when the walls close in, when systems meant to protect instead suffocate. The question isn’t just what happens to Khalil — it’s what happens to all of us when the rule of law becomes optional, when punishment is meted out not by principle, but by power.

Your Body is Not a Democracy, But You Can Reclaim It

Your nervous system doesn’t read think pieces. It doesn’t care about Supreme Court decisions or policy memos. It cares about survival. And right now, for many of us, that primal part of our brain is screaming, You are not safe. This is why you can’t focus. Why you keep doom-scrolling even though it makes you sick. Why you forget to eat lunch but still check your news alerts like they’re your lifeline.

Dr. Stephen Porges, who developed Polyvagal Theory, explains that when we’re in a chronic state of fight-or-flight, we start seeing everything as a threat — even things that aren’t. Our bodies stop distinguishing between an actual crisis and a perceived one. We can’t think straight. We make impulsive choices. We either shut down completely or live in a constant state of simmering panic. And yet, despite everything, we have to keep moving. We have to find a way to stay present, to stay engaged, to stay here.

Some Practical Ways to Unplug from the Panic Machine (Without Going Numb)

1. Move Your Damn Body:

Your nervous system is like a shaken-up soda can right now. You need to release some of that pressure. Walk, stretch, dance in your kitchen, shake your arms out like a weirdo. Whatever it is, just move. Motion reminds your body that you are not, in fact, trapped.

2. Breathe Like You Mean It

When everything feels like too much, try this: Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for six. Do it again. And again. Longer exhales signal to your brain that you are not in immediate danger.

3. Find Your People (And Actually Talk to Them)

Isolation fuels despair. Connect with someone. It doesn’t have to be deep. A funny meme, a check-in text, a two-minute voice message. The science is clear — humans do better when they feel like they belong to something.

4. Let Joy Be a Middle Finger to the Apocalypse

Fascism thrives on fear, on breaking our spirits. So laugh. Find a song that makes you dance. Pet a dog. Eat something delicious. Read something absurd. Small joys are not frivolous — they are defiance.

5. Create One Tiny Ritual That Grounds You

Light a candle in the morning before you have a cuppa and scrolla. Write one sentence in your journal before bed — something that reminds you of what is still good. Make tea with intention. When the world feels like quicksand, rituals remind you where solid ground is.

6. Name What’s Happening, But Don’t Let It Own You

Neuroscientists say that when we name our emotions, they lose some of their grip on us. So say that shit out loud: I am overwhelmed. I am angry. I am exhausted. And then remember — you are not just your fear or pissed-off-ness. You are the person observing it. And that means you still have power.

Why Your Self-Care is a Revolutionary Act

Trumpism isn’t just a political ideology. It is a psychological operation designed to exhaust, confuse, and demoralize. If we don’t tend to our nervous systems, we burn out before we can resist. And that’s exactly what they want.

So, no, we can’t fix it all today. But we can take a breath. We can shake it out. We can call someone we love. We can resist the collapse into the rabbit hole of despair. Because staying present, staying humanly connected — that is the fight. That is the revolution.

And let’s be clear: self-care isn’t a luxury right now. It’s not an indulgence. It’s not for the people who can “afford” it — it’s for the people who can’t afford not to. You can’t afford to let your nervous system hijack this whole situationship, because we need you. You, fully here, alert, steady. The revolution — the real, daily, ongoing fight for democracy and human dignity — requires people who are present, clear-eyed, and ready.

The people before us fought, suffered, and sacrificed so that you and I could sit here and Google “how to regulate my nervous system.” Pick any social justice movement in the past 30 years — hell, the past 300 — and someone fought so you could live a little easier. Who made that possible for you? Whose struggle helped secure your freedoms? Name them, thank them, and then pay it forward. Take care of yourself so that you can keep going, so that you can show up for someone else, so that this moment isn’t the one where we let it all slip away.

Because democracy isn’t just a system. It’s a living, breathing organism that needs tending. And right now, your nervous system is part of that care. Take care of it. Take care of us. Let’s keep going.