Are you exhausted?

Are You Exhausted?

Yeah, me too.

This morning, while training a group of equity and inclusion facilitators, we began our session the way I always try to—with a human check-in. How are you? Really?

One person voiced what many of us are feeling: “I’m so tired. There’s always devastating new information. I’m really worried for the people we serve—even if I’m not personally, directly impacted. It feels personal. All of it.”

Everyone nodded.

And then she said what cracked something open in the room: “It’s not the kind of tired where a nap would help. It’s bone-deep exhaustion.”

We let that truth linger.

As we transitioned into the training—focused on systemic oppression and equity facilitation—we watched The Unequal Opportunity Race. We unpacked the four levels of oppression: personal, interpersonal, institutional, and systemic. We reflected on how deeply we've been shaped by the isms embedded in every layer of our culture.

And we acknowledged what we are seeing so overtly now has always been true for many communities in the US.

These systems were never designed for us to thrive.
And yet—we’re still here.
Still fighting. Still imagining something different.

We talked about the breakdown of institutions, the erosion of democratic norms, and the heartbreak of watching decades of hard-fought progress be dismissed, reversed, or erased. And we named how deeply personal that is—not just theoretically, but in our bodies, families, histories, and hopes.

One participant, a veteran, shared how heavy it feels to witness injustice after injustice—how hard it is to reconcile what he served to protect with what he sees unraveling around him.

And then, I invited something that felt almost risky in the moment: joy.

Not toxic positivity. Not bypassing. But real, honest joy.

I asked them: What is bringing you even the smallest spark of joy right now?

He smiled softly and shared something beautiful. His social media algorithms had begun serving him a quote over and over again:
“Even storms run out of rain.” —Maya Angelou

That landed.
This pain, this moment, this crisis—it will not last forever. 

Yes, we name the pain.
We sit with it.
We don’t look away.
But we also build community. We hold each other. We keep going.

As adrienne maree brown reminds us, “What we pay attention to grows.”
We work in the fractals—those tiny, repeated acts of care, resistance, and love that spiral into something much larger than ourselves.

It’s asking someone how they’re doing and really listening.
It’s showing up by donating with your money, gifts, or time.
It’s tending your grief.
It’s making art.
It’s learning and unlearning and teaching others to do the same.
It’s liberation work, even when it’s small and unseen.

These small moments matter. They build the world we dream of.

So today, may your breath be taken away by something beautiful.
May you have people you can weep with and laugh with.
May you be reminded that hopelessness is not the only option.
And may you keep doing your part—learning, leading, healing, and liberating. For yourself. For your people. For all of us.

We come from people who endured and healed.
We are people who resist and love. 
And we are becoming something new.

Even storms run out of rain.