↑ If you would rather hear than read, here you go. ↑
Burnout Won’t Save Democracy:
The Case for Taking a Breather
July 13,2025
Let’s be honest: it’s exhausting out there. The news is relentless, the stakes feel impossibly high, and every time you glance at your phone you’re bombarded with fresh horrors, hot takes, and the never-ending churn of political chaos. If you’re reading this, chances are you care—a lot. You care about democracy, human rights, justice, decency, and not letting fascists run the show. And that’s a good thing. But here’s something you might need to hear: it’s okay to step back for a minute. In fact, it’s necessary.
We can’t save the world if we’re too burned out to stand up.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of feeling like we have to be “on” all the time. Every headline demands outrage. Every social media post feels like a call to arms. Every new political development—whether it’s another rollback of rights, another Supreme Court disaster, or the latest dystopian nonsense from the MAGA camp—feels like another brick in the wall we’re all trying desperately to hold back.
And yet, we’re still human beings. We have limits. We’re not designed to live in a 24/7 cycle of crisis. Our brains, our hearts, our bodies—they need rest. They need joy. They need moments of peace in between the battles.
Now, before the alarm bells start ringing, this isn’t about giving up. It’s not about sticking your head in the sand or pretending everything’s fine when it’s clearly not. It’s about understanding that if we burn ourselves out completely, we won’t be much use in the fight to begin with. This is a marathon, not a sprint. And even the fiercest fighters need time to breathe.
Let’s talk about social media for a second. We all know the old platform (you know the one—now a right-wing playground where MAGA conspiracy theories run wild) has become unbearable for a lot of us. Many have migrated to Bluesky, a refreshing alternative where, at least for now, you can find more thoughtful discussion, less vitriol, and a sense of community among people who still care about facts, compassion, and reality.
But even in a more comfortable space like Bluesky, it’s easy to fall into the doomscroll trap. The algorithms are still there, nudging us to react, to respond, to keep refreshing. And sometimes the weight of everything—even from voices we agree with—gets heavy. There’s a point where well-intentioned engagement starts to turn into exhaustion. That’s the moment when it’s okay to step away.
Not forever. Just long enough to refill the tank.
Imagine this: you take a weekend—just two days—where you put the phone down. You skip the news alerts. You don’t check for updates on whichever national nightmare is unfolding this hour. Instead, you take a walk. You bake something. You read a novel, not a policy brief. You spend time with people you love, people who remind you of why the fight matters in the first place.
The truth is, democracy needs people who are in it for the long haul. And you can’t stay in the fight if you’re running on fumes.
Let’s not forget that some of the most effective movements in history were built not just on constant vigilance, but on shared humanity. The people who fought for civil rights, for women’s suffrage, for LGBTQ+ equality—they had picnics. They danced. They sang. They found joy even in the darkest times because that joy was part of the resistance. It was proof that the oppressors hadn’t won.
Right now, it feels like the bad guys have the upper hand. The Supreme Court is doing them favors, the far right is emboldened, and elected officials who should know better are either too cowardly or too complicit to stop the slide. It’s terrifying. It’s enraging. And it makes you want to scream into the void—or at least into the nearest social media feed.
But here’s the thing: screaming nonstop isn’t sustainable. And it doesn’t necessarily change anything.
What does make change is organized action. What makes change is showing up. What makes change is voting, protesting, writing, calling, and sometimes just having one brave, uncomfortable conversation that nudges someone a little closer to the side of reason. And none of that is possible if we’re emotionally shattered.
So what can you do?
First, give yourself permission to log off. Seriously. The internet will still be there when you get back. The news will still be bad when you return. But you’ll return stronger.
Second, lean into hobbies that bring you joy. Paint. Garden. Cook. Knit. Build things. Fix things. Create. There’s something incredibly grounding about working with your hands, using a different part of your brain, and making something tangible in a world that often feels abstract and overwhelming.
Third, connect with others offline. Call a friend. Visit family. Organize a game night or a potluck or just sit on a porch somewhere and watch the world go by. Isolation feeds despair. Connection fuels resilience.
Fourth, get outside. Nature doesn’t care about political chaos. The sky still stretches wide. Trees still sway in the breeze. Birds still sing. And being in that space—if even for a little while—can remind you that the world is bigger than the mess we’re in right now.
And fifth, remember that stepping back doesn’t mean stepping down. You can care deeply and still take a breather. You can be fully committed and still need rest. That’s not weakness—it’s wisdom.
It’s also important to recognize that the people we’re up against—the power-hungry authoritarians, the ultra-rich puppet-masters, the hate-peddlers—they count on our burnout. They want us so overwhelmed, so angry, so exhausted that we give up. That we retreat. That we say, “It’s hopeless.”
And that’s exactly when they win.
So your rest? It’s not indulgence. It’s not selfish. It’s strategy. Because rested people fight smarter. Rested people have the stamina to organize, to resist, to outlast the chaos. And rested people know that even though the sky feels like it’s falling, there are still beautiful things worth defending.
I know it feels like everything is on fire right now—because, frankly, a lot of it is. The attacks on voting rights, the erosion of bodily autonomy, the rise of corporate control, the dismantling of environmental protections, the daily drumbeat of lies and authoritarian creep—it’s all happening. And it’s all terrifying.
But you’re not alone.
There are millions of people who still believe in democracy, in justice, in kindness. They’re marching, they’re organizing, they’re running for office, they’re building communities of resistance. And they’re also taking time to laugh, to love, to live. Because those things are what we’re fighting for.
So take the time you need. Step back when you have to. And then, when you’re ready, come back swinging.
Because the fight isn’t over. And we need you in it.
