v.45 No, I’m Not Going to Say Something: The Guilt. The Noise. The Nonsense.
I’m Not Here to Perform for You
Right now, we’re being told, loudly and often, that if we don’t say something publicly (insert any important and very valid concern), then we must not care. But let me remind you of this: care is not performance. Activism is not (only) a stage. And the pressure to prove your humanity in front of an audience feels instead like emotional surveillance. That pressure, especially in moments of global crisis, creates a dangerous binary: speak up immediately or be labeled complicit.
Let me be clear. We don’t need to be bullied by the folks who yell the loudest. Just because someone demands a post or personal commentary, it doesn’t mean you owe them one. Just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you’re disengaged. Caring doesn’t have one volume. And some of the most powerful acts of care are the quietest: sitting in grief with someone, sending money anonymously, having a hard conversation offline, or choosing not to burn yourself out so you can stay in this work for the long haul.
There are many powerful forms of activism and yes, loud, visible activism is one of them. It moves mountains. But it’s not the only way. And it’s not the only valid way. I’ve come to know and trust a quieter kind of change-making. One that centers sustainability and connection over performance. A form of activism that happens behind the scenes, in community, in conversation and that still carries weight.
This is why, a few years ago, I made the conscious decision not to publicly comment on the war in the Middle East. People didn’t like that. And today, I still stand by that decision. I imagine some folks still won’t like it. But I’ve learned something important: you don’t need my opinions on global politics or human rights to know where I stand. Because in today’s climate, even the most considered words are quickly met with a response that becomes binary. Applause from those who agree. Criticism from those who don’t. That’s not dialogue. That’s performance and I’m not here for that.
My activism is quieter now and I’ve come to deeply trust that. The personal losses I experienced in 2020 and 2021 reshaped how I show up in the world. For better or worse, grief made me softer, more discerning, more grounded. These days, I activate through human conversation. Through listening. Through gathering. Through action that doesn’t always require an audience. And that is in deep alignment with who I am today.
The world feels unbearable right now. We’re carrying the weight of war, injustice, personal loss, nonstop noise and a president who is a fucking egomaniacal lunatic. Many of us are just trying to stay afloat while being told that staying afloat isn’t enough. The guilt is loud and relentless. But guilt isn’t strategy. It doesn’t build bridges or save lives. It only fuels shame and burnout. And neither of those move us toward healing or liberation.
And let’s name this, too: self-care isn’t available to everyone. Some people are surviving war. Some are grieving in real time. Some are just trying to make it to the next day. If you are safe and resourced, that’s not something to feel guilty about, it’s something to use with care and intention. You don’t have to do everything. But you can do something. And doing it quietly doesn’t make it less valuable.
You are allowed to feel multiple truths at once: rage and hope, fear and clarity, heartbreak and gratitude. None of it cancels the other out. And if you’re someone who feels deeply but moves quietly, please know that your care counts. You do not have to shout to be of service. You do not have to perform your compassion to prove that it’s real.
So what now? Limit the noise. Ground yourself in truth, not outrage. Rest when you need to. Speak when it matters. Support when and how you can. Let your financial resources reflect your beliefs. But most of all: stay human. Stay tender. Stay rooted in care that doesn’t need to be seen to be real.
This moment doesn’t need your perfection. It needs your presence. Let’s move with empathy, not ego. Let’s choose each other. Even now, even still. Over and over again.
This week’s microjoy:
The news has been news’ing lately. Too much noise, not enough light. But I found this colorful 1980’s Collier Campbell Cote d’ Azur fabric quilt tucked in a thrift store corner for $5! It’ll need a few repairs but this find was a small, but lovely reminder that beauty still shows up, even in the midst of so. much. shit.
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That’s all for today. Thanks for reading Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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I always said - there’s no island where we can put all the people we disagree with. Thanks for reaffirming this perspective. It’s so important for all of us to move forward together.