Finding Hope in a Time of Crisis: Reflections on Empathy, Boundaries, and Personal Growth
Thank you for your patience with my absence.
I didn’t intend to be gone for months. Initially, when the election results came in, I thought I was just taking a week to find a voice of love, hope, and compassion. But one week turned into two, and then family drama and political affairs stretched those two weeks into, well, months.
In that time, I’ve been observing and processing the energy in both my personal life and the world at large—doing my best to look for the helpers, the leaders, the truth-tellers—while balancing it all with what I was desperately seeking: hope. Moving forward, I want to be sure my voice remains true to my core tenet: Do no harm, but take no shit. (And if you see me bullying the bullies—no, you don’t.)
That tenet didn’t come easy. I’m what some might call a recovering “crash-out” (shoutout to Black people for your beautiful turn of phrases). My family might tell you I’m overdramatic, overly sensitive, or even the entire problem—depending on who you ask and how respectful they were in our last interaction.
The truth is, I’m angry.
I’m still learning, still experimenting with how to fully embody my story and my voice. And with everything going on—EVERYWHERE—I’ve had plenty of opportunities to exercise wisdom while allowing my justified rage to sharpen my convictions. I am grateful for these opportunities to reflect on my growth and choose new patterns for myself.
I know that the only thing I can control in this life is me. I know that challenges to my worldview aren’t a threat to my person—nor are the people who bring those shifts. And through this practice of embracing shifts in my own perspective, I’ve come to a heartbreaking realization: so many of my countrymen seem convinced that empathy is a sin.
Growing up as the at-least-sometimes scapegoat in a narcissistic family dynamic, I was conditioned to see many perspectives before I even fully examined my own. This was once a hindrance in my journey—until I learned about ✨boundaries✨.
To me, sitting at the table with someone—regardless of their background—listening to their story, holding space for their pain, even just for a moment, and imagining myself in their position isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. Empathy is not a sin. In fact, most spiritual leaders, even Jesus, would ask you to sit with people who have lived different lives than you and allow their stories to fully hit you.
Every time we do this, we change. Within ourselves as listeners, we shift, having held space for a new perspective. And as witnesses, we validate another person’s reality. Sometimes, that’s all someone needs—to be seen, heard, and innerstood. Ideally, we validate ourselves, but for those of us who have been gaslit out of our own narratives, even a little validation can feel like the first warm ray of sun after a long winter storm.
And in those cold winter storms, there are lessons to be learned. Some might call this process shadow work—facing ourselves in the quiet, lonely moments.
Before we can meet others in their pain, we must first meet ourselves in our own. If we sit at the table with others without first facing ourselves, our own lens may distort the picture they are painting. Sometimes, our lens leads us to identify with the villain in someone else’s story rather than the protagonist. If we see ourselves in what hurt them but haven’t unpacked our own role in similar dynamics, we stop listening—we get defensive.
And when we get defensive, we can’t see past our own limited experience long enough to fully hear the pain we’ve caused. Instead of pausing to examine ourselves, we lash out. Maybe we excuse the harm, soften the image of the abuser, or refuse to believe the storyteller at all—blaming them for their own pain. When we can’t remove our ego from a story that was never ours to begin with, we risk subjecting people to double abuse.
Every story shared is a gift. When we focus on anyone other than the storyteller, we discard that gift before we’ve even unwrapped it.
The Global Reflection of Family Cycles
What I’m witnessing—both in my personal life and on a larger societal scale—is a lot of people throwing a gift in the trash simply because they don’t like the person handing it to them.
Take my feral-dog extended family, for example. I can’t recall a time when any two people were genuinely committed to exchanging the gift of authentic stories. Don’t get me wrong—my family has plenty of stories, some they’ll eagerly share, and others they pray I never speak aloud.
In my family, the first person to bend—to let someone else’s version of events reshape their own perspective—is seen as the weakest. And the weakest? They become the target of slander, backbiting, gossip, and, if the others are feeling particularly self-righteous, maybe even a sanctimonious family prayer.
Watching these patterns play out for the first 14 years of my life—and intermittently as an adult—has unfortunately made it easy for me to recognize them on what feels like a global scale.
As a truth-teller, both in my family and in the world, I often feel like I’m screaming into the void about these cycles. I have empathy, but I have little patience for the toxic dynamics that created these broken people in the first place.
And these people? They’re in comment sections and in the world, spouting misinformation with confidence, “owning the libs,” and believing their billionaire “Daddy” loves them more than the family that broke them.
There’s something to be said about how they don’t even realize they’re broken. These are the same people who proudly declare, “I got beat, and I turned out fine” while verbally annihilating their own children. That is—if they even bothered to try to do better than their parents. And if they did? They’ll say, “I never hit ya, I was a great parent,” as if not hitting their kids was the pinnacle of good parenting. Not realizing that not hitting your kids is the bare minimum.
So Where Do We Go From Here?
I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know.
I will, however, share what I am doing right now—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I’m planning my garden, hoping to help myself and my neighbors with canning and freezing. I’m being intentional about speaking with my neighbors when I see them. I’m being intentional about smiling at people who don’t look like me, people who are “alt,” people who are obviously non-conformists.
I am intentionally not smiling at old white men. I live in a very red community. Yes, I’m being openly prejudiced.
I’m making sure I check in and connect with the people I love. I’m drinking my water and taking deep breaths. I’m practicing observance.
I’m bullying people who spread misinformation, disinformation, and ignorance. I’m staying informed while balancing that with caring for myself and my loved ones.
I’m lifting up voices that educate, offer balance, and bring perspectives that I believe are important.
My Advice?
Get involved—however you can.
Plan a garden in your community.
Build connections.
Listen to Black, Brown, and Indigenous creators. They have been oppressed. They have the blueprint. The rest of us need to get really comfortable listening to them.
Educate yourself on bad-faith arguments, and either disengage—or if you have the time and energy, PUSH BACK.
Call out the specific reason an argument is bad faith—strawman, goalpost shifting, conflating issues.
Call out hypocrisy and contradictions in logic.
Or just bully them until they remove the stupid shit they’re trying to spread.
We are in this together. We will get through this global tower moment together.
Join me in the next post to explore what I mean by "tower moment" more in-depth.
In the meantime, love yourself, take care of each other, and get involved in resistance.
With as much compassion as I could muster,
Mia Marie
