Right? Just… right?

If you’ve recently found yourself staring blankly at your phone, possibly wondering if you accidentally subscribed to a ‘Daily Dose of Global Despair’ newsletter you don’t remember signing up for, feeling like you’ve run an emotional marathon sponsored by existential dread… hello, kindred spirit.

Welcome.

We have stale virtual coffee and collectively exasperated sighs. Pull up a chair.

It genuinely feels like we’re living inside a malfunctioning firehose spraying a toxic cocktail of Bad News™, alarming social media takes, endless political bullshit (shout out to ‘Whiskey-Leaks Hegseth’ for his…unique… contributions), and maybe the occasional cute animal video if the algorithm is feeling generous.

Remember the quaint old days when news arrived maybe once a day?

On actual paper?

A time when you could put the terribleness down?

Wild, I know.

Now, it’s a constant, buzzing, notification-fueled assault vehicle demanding our attention, our outrage, and our last shreds of serotonin, 24/7.

It’s less a news cycle and more a news centrifuge.

And if you’re someone cursed with empathy – someone who actually gives a damn about justice, fairness, the inherent worthiness and dignity of every person (you know who you are!) – it feels like getting hit by that assault vehicle repeatedly.

You want to stay informed, to bear witness, to not look away. But the sheer, unrelenting volume… it’s grinding us down into a fine powder of anxiety and exhaustion.

We all have that ‘final straw’ moment, right?

The one where the camel’s back doesn’t just break, it spontaneously combusts in a cloud of glitter and despair.

For me this week, it’s been a particularly nasty one-two-three punch that just flattened me.

Waking up to the horrifying headlines about attacks on Easter Sunday in Gaza, a place already buried under unimaginable suffering, reading deeply unsettling news about a potential policy floated by RFK Jr. about a national autism registry that rightly send shivers down the spine of anyone valuing bodily autonomy. And then, as if crap couldn’t get any worse, Pope Francis said “peace out bro. I’ve had enough of this timeline,” and up and died the day after Easter.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

It’s the cumulative weight that did me in.

Each headline, each tragedy, each alarming proposal stacks up like a Jenga tower of doom until the slightest breeze – or another notification – sends it crashing down on my last nerve. I suspect it’s the same way for all y’all these days too.

You feel exhausted.

Numb.

Your well of compassion feels drier than a forgotten slice of toast.

That, my friends, is compassion fatigue.

And if you’re wondering why you feel like a sentient puddle wearing clothes [or no clothes. I’m not judging], spoiler alert: it’s not some mysterious personal failing. Our poor, prehistoric brains literally weren’t designed for this constant, high-alert, information-overload dumpster fire.

We’ve got this built-in feature called evolutionary negativity bias. Sounds fancy. It’s not.

Basically, it just means that we latch onto threats and bad news like Velcro so we can perceive threats and stay alive (thanks, saber-toothed tigers!).

The internet algorithms know this, and they gleefully serve us an endless buffet of it.

Add in the actual emotional labor of caring about huge, complex problems like systemic injustice, global crises, and political absurdity… yeah, feeling drained isn’t just understandable, it’s practically a physiological response.

Feeling overwhelmed often means you care so much your internal circuits are just fried.

So, what’s a perpetually overwhelmed but deeply caring human being supposed to do?

First, repeat after me: It is okay to hit the big red eject button.

Here’s your official (non-notarized, but spiritually binding) Rev. Kapp permission slip to take a Dumpster Fire Nap.

What the hell is that, you ask?

It’s self-preservation, baby. And here’s how you do it:

Go Dark (Temporarily…or for good. Both are valid options).

Log out.

Delete the app if you need to.

Chuck your phone across the room (onto something soft. Don’t break your shit. These tariffs are no joke.).

Ignorance isn’t bliss, but strategic disconnection is survival.

Actually Rest.

No, scrolling through slightly less stressful social media doesn’t count.

Sleep.

Nap.

Stare blankly at a ceiling fan.

Let your brain defrag.

It needs it. Badly.

Aggressively Pursue Joy.

Remember joy?

It still exists, hiding between the headlines.

Find tiny pockets of it.

Listen to that embarrassing song from high school at full volume.

Watch videos of pandas falling over. Read a trashy novel.

Argue with a squirrel (from a safe distance).

Find a nice tree and appreciate the fact that it’s not demanding your opinion on geopolitics.

This isn’t about being selfish; it’s about refueling the freaking vehicle.

You can’t pour from a cup that’s been shattered, glued back together with tears, and then immediately run over by the news cycle again.

Dumpster Fire Napping is great.

Essential, even.

But eventually, we might have to, you know, participate in this messy world again without immediately wanting to crawl back under the blankets with the dog. So, how do we manage that minor miracle?

This is where stubborn, slightly grumpy hope comes in.

The secret sauce (spoiler: it’s not really a secret, or a sauce) is sustainable engagement.

You don’t have to personally extinguish every dumpster fire on the planet by lunchtime.

You can’t.

But you can light a candle, or maybe just point a fire extinguisher at one small, manageable fire.

Instead of feeling crushed by every single global crisis flashing across your screen, pivot!

PIVOT!

Focus on where you can actually see a difference.

Volunteering at the local animal shelter (puppies!), helping tidy the community garden (actual sunshine!), or supporting a neighborhood mutual aid group can feel surprisingly good.

Like, ‘maybe humanity isn’t totally doomed’ good.

And please, for the love of dog, release yourself from the impossible burden of being the lead activist on everything.

Your brain will melt.

Pick one or two causes that genuinely resonate with you, that light your fire (in a good way, not the dumpster way).

Focus your energy there – donate if you can, volunteer your time, share information from people who actually know their stuff. Do it consistently, but sustainably, without turning yourself into activist toast.

Plus, remember that misery loves company, but hope thrives on it.

Don’t try to carry all this alone.

Connect with your people – your UU group, that quirky book club, the online forum dedicated to niche historical memes, whoever makes you feel less alone in the absurdity. Sharing the load, venting, laughing together at dark humor that makes you say “oooh I’m going to helllllll” (I’ll admit, I’ve made some damn funny Dead Pope Jokes this week) – it makes the weight feel so much lighter.

And while you’re at it, become a bit of a hope detective.

Intentionally hunt for the good stuff – stories of resilience, acts of kindness, positive changes happening under the radar.

They exist, I promise!

They just don’t go viral at the same rate as the bad stuff, usually.

Find ’em, savor ’em, maybe even share ’em.

Be the slightly annoying, optimistic counter-balance to the endless doom scroll.

I’m not Pollyanna. I know it’s a shit show burning inside of a dumpster fire out there right now.

This isn’t about putting on rose-tinted glasses and pretending the people in this world aren’t frequently colossal assholes.

They often are.

But collapsing under the sheer weight of it all doesn’t fix anything, and just makes you miserable.

We need your voice, your unique brand of giving-a-damn, your energy, for the long, weird marathon ahead.

So, acknowledge the exhaustion.

Validate it.

It’s ridiculously real.

Then, wrap yourself in a blanket of self-compassion.

Rest like it’s your job.

Find those ridiculous sparks of light, those moments of genuine connection, those small acts of defiance against despair.

Refuel.

And then, after your dumpster fire nap?

Yeah.

Get back up.

Dust off the clinging ashes of existential dread.

Maybe find the energy to make more coffee…or a (responsibly consumed) whiskey.

Pick your small corner of the world, take a deep breath, and nudge something, anything, in a slightly better direction.

Gently, stubbornly, maybe even humorously.

We need you.

Now go take that nap.