I’ve Been Holding This In

There’s a heaviness I’ve been carrying lately, and it shows up in quiet ways. In the pauses between tasks. In the moments when I put my phone down and just stare at the wall. In the feeling that there’s so much I want to say, but no sentence that feels big enough to hold it all.

I hate what is happening in our country right now.

Not in a way that fits cleanly into a post or a comment section. I hate it in a tangled, emotional, bone-deep way.

I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel scared for the future and deeply protective of the people I love. I feel overwhelmed by the noise and, at the same time, unsettled by the silence.

What I don’t always show online is that these feelings do have a place to go.

I talk about them with the people who matter most to me. I have real, sometimes uncomfortable, always honest conversations in my home. I listen. I ask questions. I let my kids see me thinking critically, feeling deeply, and choosing my words carefully.

Because I’m raising teenagers, and how they see the world is being shaped in real time.

For me, bombarding my Instagram stories with every injustice, headline, or outrage doesn’t help me process what’s happening. And it doesn’t help my family either. Constant exposure doesn’t automatically create understanding; it often creates anxiety, fear, and numbness.

That doesn’t mean I don’t care.
It means I care enough to be intentional about where my energy goes.

I believe in teaching my kids that being informed matters, but so does discernment. That empathy is important, but so are boundaries. That you don’t have to perform your values online for them to be real.

And if I’m being completely honest, one of the hardest parts for me is the constant gaslighting.

The daily lies.
The rewriting of reality.
The insistence that what we’re seeing with our own eyes isn’t actually happening.

It makes my skin crawl.

There’s something deeply unsettling about watching leaders speak with confidence while distorting truth, denying harm, or shifting blame, over and over again. It creates confusion on purpose. It erodes trust. And it leaves people feeling disoriented, exhausted, and unsure of what’s real.

I don’t want my kids to grow up thinking this is normal.
Or acceptable.
Or something we just learn to tune out.

So yes, I feel angry. And unsettled. And deeply uncomfortable. Not because I want to live in outrage, but because ignoring manipulation feels like another form of harm.

Still, I believe how we respond matters. I want my kids to see that truth can be named without cruelty. That disagreement doesn’t require dehumanization. And that clarity doesn’t have to come from shouting the loudest.

For me, that means choosing intentional conversations, steady values, and moments of speaking up, even when my voice shakes, over constant reaction.

So this is me naming the truth: I’m paying attention. I’m affected. I’m having the hard conversations. I’m raising humans who are learning how to think, question, and care in a complicated world.

And even when my thoughts don’t come out perfectly, or all at once, they matter.

If you’re feeling this too, if you’re torn between caring deeply and protecting your peace, you’re not alone. There are many ways to show up. Many ways to care. Many ways to teach the next generation what matters.

This is simply the way I’m choosing to do it right now.

I read this quote that spoke to me:

“When the government tells you it’s raining, and the news tells you it’s sunny, it’s your responsibility to look out the window and see the weather for yourself.”