When the World Hurts: Seeking Healing in Times of Crisis

We are living through undeniably challenging times. Some of the struggle is visible—etched into the faces of those affected by war, poverty, injustice. And some of it is invisible, buried within the hearts of people who wake up every day feeling the heaviness of a world unraveling.

Friends from across the globe have reached out to share their heartbreak. Stories of nations in conflict, families in danger, lives touched by loss and uncertainty.

These stories don’t just stay with them—they ripple into my soul, too. They awaken memories, personal and collective, that live under my skin like quiet ghosts.

The Body Remembers What the Heart Cannot Forget

When I hear the word war, I don’t just think of far-off battlefields. I feel it. In my muscles. In the trembling of my skin. In sudden, unexplained tears.

These are the echoes of stories my body remembers. Pain that hasn’t yet found full release. Wounds, old and new, dancing in sync with global grief.

I know this pain is mine to alchemize. And yet, as I hold the pain of my friends—and of strangers who are not strangers at all but fellow humans—I ask myself:

How do I show up in this world of unraveling threads?

How Do We Respond to the World Breaking?

Is it enough to read the news and feel informed?

Should I enter the fiery place of political debates, yelling across the divide?

Should I let my rage burn loudly on social media, my wings of fury unfurled for all to see?

Should I name and shame injustice with words sharp as swords?

All of these are valid responses. Each person must choose their own. But something deeper in me whispers of a different way. A quieter, subtler, more intimate path. One that doesn’t deny the fire, but listens to it, and alchemizes it.

Beyond Rage

My anger toward injustice is raw. It shakes me. It shatters me. It stirs every cell in my body.

But underneath that rage lies another force—a tender energy longing not to destroy, but to transform. To use this heartbreak as a balm, a sacred medicine.

Not to silence the pain, but to transmute it into light. Into art. Into prayer. Into presence.

This isn’t about bypassing anger or pretending the world isn't burning. It’s about choosing what to do with the ashes. It's about asking: Can I plant something here? Something that might one day grow into hope?

The Shame of Silence in a World That Screams

Sometimes I feel ashamed for not participating in every online outrage. For not always posting, debating, calling out. I feel it when I’m in circles where rage is currency, and silence is mistaken for indifference.

But my silence is not emptiness. It is sacred space. It is listening. It is breath. It is the soil where deeper questions grow:

• What are we truly seeking when we scream?

• Can criticism coexist with compassion?

• Can we challenge without dehumanizing?

Holding Both: The Shadows and the Light

I am not interested in criticism that doesn't also carry encouragement. I am not drawn to rage that does not hold the possibility of tenderness.

The world is full of shadows. But light still dances in the cracks. When someone criticizes my child, or a friend, or any human being, I want to see the

whole picture. Not just what is broken, but also what is possible.

Because it is through this lens that we move from destruction to healing.

I Don’t Have the Answers—But I Am Listening

I won’t pretend to have the answers to our world’s tangled narratives. But I can search for them within myself. I can explore my own pain, my own longing, and in doing so, perhaps I can begin to understand the complexity of others.

I can offer a light. A pillow for tears. A sacred place to scream. A piece of paper to make art.

I can offer presence.

If you're carrying grief, rage, or numbness—know that you are not alone. Let’s keep seeking not just answers, but deeper connection.

The world does not need more noise. It needs more listening hearts.