A Letter for Heavy Times
2026 has been long already. On a practice note, our wonderful colleague Lauren courageously decided to step back from work after a sudden loss. We miss her greatly.
Meanwhile, we are carrying the weight of the collective trauma of the American experience. It feels oppressive, like the feet of snow blanketing Northern Michigan. And yet…kids still need lunches packed. Sidewalks need shoveling. Our clinicians keep showing up each and every day for their clients. Our clients keep showing up for their communities. The everyday feels both unbearable and like an undeserved privilege.
Where does this story start?
Years ago, at a practice training, we were advised to think critically about where a story begins. If you were taught that the story of America starts when “Columbus sailed the ocean blue”, it’s a very different story than if it starts with the Indigenous communities brutalized to make way for colonization.
For some, this year has felt heavy because the story of state-sanctioned violence began with Alex Pretti, Renee Good, or Keith Porter. For others, it began in 2020 with the murder of George Floyd. The resulting horror, shock, helplessness, and despair are real. The America we once believed in must be grieved.
But the shock itself tells us something. The sickening pit in the stomach. The urge to shut down, tune out, or despair when confronted with this “new” reality. This reaction reflects privilege. It reflects having lived under the illusion of safety and justice. For many Black, Brown, and Indigenous communities, none of this is new. It is a continuation of centuries-old patterns. A repetition, not a beginning.
If there is any thread of hope here, it is this: just as the tactics of violence are not new, nor are the tactics of resistance.
For those of us reconciling the version of America we were taught with the reality we are seeing, the work is to keep learning. We must learn our full history and listen to the voices excluded from our education and mainstream media. One of the most profound sources for drawing parallels between modern-day oppression and resistance is MLK’s Letter from Birmingham Jail, which reads as though written for this exact moment.
The Only Thing More Powerful than Hate is Love
Last week, we heard the profound insistence from legendary artist Bad Bunny that the only thing more powerful than hate is love. Resistance is sometimes loud and fierce. Righteous rage makes sense.
But some of the most powerful moments have been fierce in a quiet way. Protesters singing “it’s okay to change your mind” and “we’re not moving forward without you - no one will be left behind”. Parents arranging transport for the children in their classrooms. Food banks popping up overnight to support neighbors afraid to leave home. People quietly donating, organizing, checking out library books about protest to educate a new generation.
While to some of us, this feels like the beginning of a horror story, perhaps this is a new chapter of a long-standing story. A story about dignity, community, and the ongoing fight for justice. And just maybe, things have become so dark that we are welcoming new characters into this story. It can be tempting to shame people who are just now waking up to this reality. What if, instead, we found the grace to center love, not hate? What if we said: “it’s okay to change your mind: Welcome to the resistance”.
What if, in order to make way for an America that is truly the land of the free, we must allow for the death of the America we once thought existed? It’s our job (especially those of us relatively new to this work), to author the next chapters of the story of justice and to midwife a rebirth.
Crowd-sourced wisdom for the resistance:
So what do we actually do? The short answer is: Do something - anything. When everyone does something, we carry power. None of our resistance will look the same. It will never feel like “enough”, but action is the antidote to despair.
This problem wasn’t created overnight. Nor will it be solved quickly. Some have framed this as a marathon. I prefer the analogy of a relay. Tag in when you can. Hand off the baton when you need rest. Tap back in when you are able. Resist, recover, and return. Remember that rest, and joy, are resistance in themselves and are essential to sustaining this work.
Below are some crowd sourced starting places, generated from brilliant and brave influencers and educators of color, from our own team of clinicians, and even Mr Rogers:
Diversify your feed: actively seek out Black, Brown and Indigenous voices. Listen to folks who have been holding hope in the dark for generations.
Be mindful about what you consume. There’s a difference between staying informed and feeding on outrage. Don’t spend your precious emotional resources on the nervous system roller coaster that is mainstream media or the comment sections online. To stay informed and have daily bite-sized action steps, I rely on Chop Wood, Carry Water.
Revisit history. Find sources that remind you that this work is not new, and create a space of hope and grace in your heart.
As Mr. Rogers said: look for the helpers. Support community efforts, mutual aid, and local care networks where you can. You can support the helpers in Minneapolis here. Locally, TC Indivisible is a good place to start
Resist by NOT spending: capitalism fuels this regime. Don’t fund it. Buy used, trade, share, use your library. UNSUBSCRIBE from businesses that fund harm.
Know your rights and the rights of your neighbors: https://www.redcardorders.com/
As MLK stated in 1963: “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” Every small action ripples outward. Carry what’s yours to hold, act where you can, and let love guide the work.