Reclaim Reflections: Holding onto our Humanity

Lately, I’ve been sitting with a lot of grief about the state of the world, the polarization, the disconnection, the sheer exhaustion that comes from trying to care in a system that rewards indifference.

And as someone who works with nervous system health, I keep coming back to this truth:

Our ability to stay human…to feel, to connect, to empathize…depends on the health of our nervous systems.

What happens in the body mirrors what happens in society. When we’re overwhelmed, flooded, or shut down, we lose our capacity for compassion. And collectively, that’s what I see happening right now.

Is this the moment we’ve lost our humanity?
When we’ve stopped seeing one another as human beings?

The day we lose the ability to see each other’s humanness is a sad day. And, my friends, I don’t know if that’s exactly where we are, but it feels close.

Lately, I’ve found it harder to hold on to others’ humanity, especially those who continue to turn a blind eye to what’s unfolding in this country. To those who say, “I’m not political,” or “both sides are equally bad.”

All I want is for us to see each other’s humanity again.

To remember that caring about one another is not a political act, it’s a human one.

When people choose not to see the suffering of others, my heart breaks. It reminds me of the early pandemic days, the refusal to care for the collective, the insistence on “personal freedom” over community care. It was never about control. It was about compassion. About protecting those more vulnerable than us.

And here we are again.

“If my life isn’t directly impacted, then I don’t care.” That mindset, that separation…that is the sickness.

I am trying so hard to keep seeing the humanity in everyone. I don’t want to lose that part of myself, the part that believes most people are good, just misled or afraid. But some days, it’s hard. So hard.

How can I keep choosing to see humanity when it feels like so many have chosen not to?
I don’t know. I truly don’t know.

But maybe the work, for me, for all of us, is to keep choosing to look.
To keep softening toward one another, even when it hurts.

To stay curious, even when it feels impossible.
To keep reaching, even when we’re scared.

Because perhaps, just perhaps, that’s where our humanity lives, not in the answers, but in the act of looking.

With compassion,

Juliana