How to Remain Undaunted by the Enormity of the World's Grief

A guide to living through these endlessly "unprecedented times" without collapsing from compassion fatigue.

Each day, I wake up in darkness. The sun rises slowly after I do, streaking faint bands of pink across the inky black sky. I pad through the house and wake up my daughter. I make her some breakfast. She gets ready for school.

She warms herself in front of the fire, talking softly between mouthfuls, her eyes still heavy-lidded and blurry with sleep.

She gets on the bus, and I clean up the dishes. Not one single bomb falls from the sky.

I am not shot.

She is not starving.

Our home still stands whole, with all walls intact.

---

I received an Instagram message on Monday morning that said, “I've been following you for over a decade now, and I'm sad you haven't posted anything about Palestine.”

I stared at it for a full minute before turning off my phone. It took me a day and a half to reply. My reply was insignificant.

I don't know what to say any more about the brokenness of the world. I don't know how to fix it.

I know I can't fix it, that no one person can.

I know that it's OK to take time to listen and learn instead of immediately weighing in with an opinion. I know that silence can be mistaken for complicity; that silence can make you complicit.

I've tried to sit down to write something dozens of times and found myself without words.

What can I say?

I am against children being bombed in their beds. I am against colonization and the wreckage it leaves in its wake. I am against armed conflicts costing countless lives. I am against anti-Semitism. I am against slavery, dehumanization, and oppression. I am against religious persecution. I am increasingly against the idea of religion itself.

I don't know what else to say about the brokenness of the world.

I don't know how to fix it.

I often see memes about how exhausted my generation is from living through so many “once in a lifetime” events. Unprecedented times. But it seems like every generation of human beings has lived on the brink of self-annihilation. Plagues, crusades, famines, and conquerors. Cold wars and world wars and climate collapse.

I'm beginning to suspect we prefer it this way.

I'm beginning to believe that it might be something as innate to human beings as breathing.

---

In my twenties, I began to feel debilitated by the brutality of the world.

I was 21 years old when I watched Hotel Rwanda, and I sunk into a deep despair for weeks afterward. I couldn't shake it off, and I couldn't understand it.

How could you be someone's neighbour one day and hack them to death with a machete the next? How could someone tell you that human beings were cockroaches? How could you believe it?

(And how could I be so sure that I wouldn't do the same thing?)

I was twenty-eight years old when I read a book called The Natashas, about global sex trafficking. It felt like a light inside of me was abruptly switched off. I couldn't stop thinking about these women — stolen, exploited, used, and abused. Given new names. Erased.

It was like this when I was a youth worker, too. I'd get too invested in the teens who came to the drop-in center. Too involved. I wanted to adopt them all and somehow rewind time. I wanted to give them a safe home and a fridge full of food, a childhood of kind words and gentle hands. People who didn't hurt them. People who loved them, the way parents are supposed to.

I felt an overwhelming mixture of guilt and gratitude, knowing that it was just a cosmic roll of the dice that separated me from each of these situations: Being born in Canada instead of Rwanda. Being born into safety. Being privileged and loved and lucky.

At some point, however, I came across an article that talked about what to do when you find yourself continuously debilitated by the brokenness of the world.

I don't remember the title of the article, or the author, but I do remember the message. It was blunt and matter-of-fact. It said that despair doesn't actually help anyone; overwhelm is ineffectual.

Instead, it outlined four concrete actions to take in the wake of a crisis, natural disaster, or war.

Poorly paraphrased, these are the steps:

1. Educate yourself. Learn as much about the situation as you can, from the most reputable sources you can find. Search for diverse viewpoints. Understand historical, racial, and cultural contexts. Be aware of bias and misinformation. Whenever possible, listen to those on the ground, those experiencing the situation directly.

2. Provide help however you can. This will look different in every situation. For local issues, you can volunteer directly; for global issues, it's often most effective to donate to existing non-profit or aid organizations, preferably those local to the region. Whatever the case, identify the most effective things you can do to help, and then do those things. Keep doing them.

3. Raise awareness. Share what you've learned. Share how to help. Spread the word about what's going on and why it's important.

4. Move on. You've educated yourself, taken all the action you can, and shared these resources with others. You've now done everything you can do. Don't continue to dwell. Don't drown. That won't change anything, and it won't help anyone either.

   You must continue to live your life.

Step four is where I used to get stuck. It's where I still get stuck, sometimes. I often struggle to simply let go, and not become swamped in sadness.

The first three steps feel natural to me, I've always been drawn to people's stories. If someone has suffered and survived, been persecuted and paid the price, the least I can do is bear witness. They deserve to tell their story — doesn't my relative privilege oblige me to listen?

And of course I would help however I can. Of course I would tell others to do the same. But to then just…move on?

The reason you need step four, I remember the article arguing, is that it just isn't sustainable to hold the entirety of the world's pain in your head and your heart. It isn't possible. Not for long, anyway.

If you've ever worked in a caregiving role, you've probably experienced this firsthand on a smaller scale. It's called compassion fatigue.

At some point, it becomes necessary to set that heaviness down, even if it’s just for a little while.

By doing so, you retain the energy you’ll need to help in the next crisis. You remain employed and able to donate financially to support relief efforts. You keep up your social relationships and professional networks, and you can mobilize them later for awareness and action.

You must continue to live your life.

Although I still struggle to let go, I have used this method faithfully for years. I pay attention. I have recurring monthly donations set up with several aid organizations and charities, and I make individual donations to disaster relief efforts and humanitarian causes as needs arise. I attend protests. I spread the word about what's going on and where help is needed.

I continue to live my life.

But despite all of this, it feels like it's getting harder. It feels like it's no longer enough. (And I increasingly find myself wondering, was it ever?)

I don't know what else to do.

I don't know what else to say about the brokenness of the world.

I don't know how else to fix it.

---

The person who sent me the message was right. I haven't posted about what has been happening in Israel and Palestine. Perhaps I should have. I skipped the third step. (And maybe the fourth, too, if I'm being honest.)

Instead, I've found myself numb and overwhelmed. My head and my heart are heavy.

I am not Jewish, but one of my favourite quotes for dark times comes from the Talmud. I've shared it dozens of times over the years, and I've found myself returning to it again these past few weeks:

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

I am trying to remind myself of this today. I don't have to singlehandedly fix the brokenness of the world. But I can't abandon it, either.

If you're confused about what's going on in Israel and Palestine, and why, these resources provide good overviews of an incredibly complex situation:

• What Are the Roots of the Israel-Palestine Conflict?

• The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict: A Chronology

The following aid organizations are on the ground in Gaza and are in desperate need of support, I have donated to both:

• The Red Cross

• UNRWA

You can share these resources with your friends and family to make them aware of what's going on, and, more importantly, how they can help. (If you have any other suggestions, please add them in the comments.)

And finally, after you’ve done all that, go outside and take a few deep breaths. Hug someone you love. Try to put the heaviness down, even just for a little while.

---

I still don't know what to say about the brokenness of the world.

I still don't know how to fix it.

What I do know is that helping each other is something as innate to human beings as breathing. And I know that we can not abandon the work now, no matter how heavy.