That’s it. That’s the thing people feel but can’t quite say.
It’s not policy.
It’s not parties.
It’s the constant pressure —
The weight in your chest when someone brings up the news.
The tension in your jaw every time a headline scrolls past.
It’s everywhere, and no one’s untouched.
We all have it.
Every single person you meet is carrying some version of it.
They’re distracted.
Short-tempered.
Distant.
Exhausted for no obvious reason.
But you can see it in their eyes —
They’re not okay, and they haven’t been for a long time.
We’ve all been through something.
It didn’t happen all at once.
It came in waves —
Elections, scandals, wars of words,
Shouting in place of speaking,
Silence in place of listening.
Even folks who tried to tune it out couldn’t escape it.
It’s in the schools.
The stores.
Your inbox.
Your family.
But here’s the thing:
We’re not broken.
We’re bruised.
And bruises can heal — if we stop pressing on them.
If we admit what we’re carrying.
If we stop pretending everything’s normal.
This site — this post — this moment right now?
It’s a field tent in the middle of a long campaign.
A place to breathe.
To speak truth without rage.
To remember that you’re not alone.
You’re not weak.
And you’re not crazy for being tired of all this.
So what do we do?
We start with small things.
Routines.
Moments of quiet.
Truth told without venom.
A porch light flipped on because somebody might need it.
We speak when we can.
Rest when we must.
And we never let the noise become the only thing we hear.
We’re in it together.
And together, we’re stronger than the storm.
So breathe.
Really breathe.
Shake off the fire for just a minute.
Stand back up.
And remember —We still get to decide who we are.
The primaries are only ten months away.
We can do more than scare them.
We can clean up the House And the Senate.
Before the 2026 midterms… we will show them the power of us.
P.S. Independents remember to re-register to a party so you can vote in the Primaries.
