Practices for Staying Grounded in Unsettling Times

What I’m bringing forward is not for people who are comfortable with what this U.S. administration is doing. It’s for those of us grieving a country crossing moral thresholds once thought unthinkable. Many are experiencing a kind of collective mourning—for both those being harmed under this administration, and for the version of America we believed still existed.

We are living through a period of political cruelty, moral incoherence, and institutional hypocrisy that has surpassed policy disagreements and entered the realm of rights violations, targeted punishment, and state-sanctioned harm toward anyone who refuses to conform. The chilling effect is real, and the moral injury is profound.

For many of us, this presidency does not feel like a term—it feels like a sentence. And yet, even in this time, we are called to remain steadfast in our values: to stay ethical when the federal government is not, to stay human when dehumanization is rewarded, and to stay principled when fear becomes the currency.

If we are going to endure this moment—and continue advocating for the freedoms and protections we know are right—we need practices that ground, steady, and sustain us. These are the practices helping me stay grounded, regulated, and human as we move through this.

Re-Narrate What Is Happening

Clarity is a form of protection. Accurately naming this moment prevents you from internalizing gaslighting or minimizing what you can plainly observe. We’re not just living through “differences of opinion.” We’re living through a moral rupture—a collision between ethics, values, and reality itself.

Information is being shaped and spun in ways that distort perception and fragment shared understanding. Without an internal compass, that kind of distortion can make you question your sanity. You don’t need to soften your language to make it palatable for people who refuse—or are unable—to look directly at what’s in front of them. Naming preserves orientation, and during times like these, being oriented to reality matters more than being delicate with wording. Call this time what it is.

Reduce Sensory Overexposure

One of the fastest ways to erode resilience right now is through constant exposure to rapid-cycle news and social media. Much of our media ecosystem is designed to hijack the nervous system: fear-based headlines, catastrophic commentary, outrage cycles, and conspiracy spirals keep the body in a chronic threat loop.

Most of us can’t—and don’t want to—disconnect fully. But we can become intentional gatekeepers. The news now moves too fast to “stay on top of,” so I no longer try to read everything. A brief headline scan once or twice a day can be enough to remain informed without sacrificing regulation. The goal is disciplined intake so you stay intact.

My body tells me when I’ve crossed the line: my chest tightens, my shoulders elevate, and eventually a migraine follows. Pay attention to the signals from your body. Patterns emerge quickly when you start listening. To care for my system, I’ve started consuming information in set windows and following it with a reset—breathwork, stretching, meditation—anything that signals: you’re safe, you can downshift.

Staying informed matters. Staying regulated matters more.

Practice Nervous System Restoration

Breathwork, yoga, walking, cold water, gardening—anything that shifts attention into sensation and out of mental spiraling can interrupt the physiological stress cycle. The goal isn’t to bypass what is happening in the world, but to restore enough internal stability to access clarity and choice.

My own reset requires a quiet cool room, a weighted blanket, sound bowls, lavender oil, and deep breath. Five minutes like that and I come back online. Other tools I reach for are salt baths, reiki, meditation, or somatic touch. None of this is magic, but when practiced with intention and going for the tools that sound good at that time, you’re sending a message to your nervous system: you can soften here.

Build two rituals—a daily steadying ritual, and an “I’m about to lose it” ritual. The first keeps you grounded; the second brings you back.

Anchor to Embodied Routines

When the external world destabilizes, the nervous system craves predictability. Routines that involve the body offer scaffolding—movement, breath, and repetition tell the system: you are here, and here is enough for this moment.

Most of us already have regulating rituals—walking, swimming, yoga, strength training—but if you don’t, this is a good time to build one. I recently added Pilates to my weekly routine, and it has been grounding and regulating in a way I never expected. For that hour, my attention narrows to alignment, sequencing, and breath. The rest of the world fades into the background.

Embodied structure keeps the psyche intact in the midst of chaos.

Create Moral Cohesion

One of the most protective things you can do in unstable times is spend time with people who share your moral footing. When the public narrative becomes surreal or distorted, even a small circle of value-aligned relationships offers a kind of psychological ballast. It counters the sense of being the only one who sees what is happening.

We’re also seeing moral rupture inside families. Among estranged relatives, roughly 40% now cite political differences as a primary factor. The old advice—“don’t let politics come between you”—belonged to a time when politics were disagreements about policy, not human rights or harm. When the divide becomes moral rather than preferential, the stakes change.

Sometimes protecting your mental health means creating distance to maintain peace. Other times it means making that distance permanent.

Preserve Your Voice

Dignity is a form of psychological self-respect—especially under conditions that reward conformity. Expression keeps dignity intact. Yet not every conversation is worth the energy it demands. We all know what it feels like to speak to people who are not open, not curious, and not listening. There is no point pouring your voice into a void that resents or distorts it.

Your voice is a finite resource. Share it with those who can receive it—those who are waking up, questioning, or wrestling with their own understanding. You are not responsible for convincing people committed to denial. You are responsible for keeping your voice alive.

Protect Humanity in Small Ways

When cruelty or indifference become normalized at scale, small acts of humanity become quietly radical. Unprompted decency interrupts the closing of the social fabric. It says: I still recognize you as a person.

My husband teases that my Midwestern friendliness never left me, and he’s right. Living in New England, the default is more reserved. But on my walks I still say hello, good morning, or anything that acknowledges a shared world. I hold doors, thank people who hold them for me, ask baristas how they’re doing, and compliment strangers. The other day I complimented a woman at the grocery store on her jacket. She told me she wasn’t sure she could pull it off, but I loved it. We both walked away a little lighter.

None of this changes the world, but it keeps it from hardening. And I’m noticing how quickly those small gestures are disappearing. In my perfect world, I don’t want them to, so this is my small way of keeping them alive.

Consume Art and Music

Art metabolizes what language can’t hold. Music moves energy when the psyche has no words. Art and music pull you out of the cognitive spin cycle and back into something human and alive.

When I feel stuck, I put on Fleetwood Mac, move around the kitchen, and sing. Rage Against the Machine still has its place for certain moods, but lately I need to be soothed more than ignited. Different music evokes different physiological states—listen for what your body needs, not what you’ve always reached for.

Art and music don’t solve the crisis we’re living through. They help us endure it without losing the things that make us human.

Maintain a Future Orientation

Oppressive systems rarely collapse on their own. People dismantle them. History shows that even when eras of control appear immovable, they eventually shift—sometimes slowly through culture and policy, sometimes all at once through collective refusal.

June Jordan wrote, “We are the ones we have been waiting for.” The future isn’t something that simply arrives; it’s shaped by how we show up inside the present. I’ve never supported this administration or the values it promotes, but I do believe we all have to wrestle with how we arrived here. Not just to endure this time, but to evolve beyond it. From that place, I ask myself: if I could rewind time, how would I have shown up differently? What would I have refused to normalize? Where would I have been more vocal, more engaged, or more courageous? And then I do my best to live in alignment with the answers.

Future orientation doesn’t deny the pain of the moment; it places it inside a longer arc—one we still have agency in shaping.

What I Hope You Remember

You don’t have to normalize what is happening to survive it. You don’t have to agree with it to endure it. You don’t have to silence yourself to stay safe, you just have to be wise about where your voice belongs. And you don’t have to abandon your humanity simply because this administration—and many who support it—have abandoned theirs.

You get to choose what kind of person you become in the midst of all this.