To the Nearly Burnt-Out Caretaker in 2025
This is a follow up post to “Living in 2025: Political Grief.”
It’s also a bit more personal in tone than my normal posts. It includes themes of moral injury and trauma.
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It’s November 2025, and to be honest, I’m drained. It’s heavy, overwhelming, and just plain sad.
Learning of the Colorado “counselor” (seriously, that’s a stretch) who is legally battling the conversion “therapy” ban was….embarrassing, disgusting, and deeply terrifying.
My moral integrity, my ethical code, my heart and brain are all on high alert. Frazzled and frozen, the shock has become more blunted as I ask “and who will this hurt?”
We’re the caretakers — the social workers, activists, parents, partners, caregivers, the helping professionals, the people committed to keeping our corner of the world kind.
We’re carrying an emotional burden, and it’s fucking exhausting.
This isn't about managing a difficult workload anymore, is it?
We’re navigating a place that normalizes cruelty and violently assaults empathy.
We’re holding onto our boundaries and compassion in a world designed to deplete both.
This exhaustion is the physical symptom of our ethical core working overtime, and we need to talk about what that’s doing to our bodies.
The Relentless Load on Our Nervous System
For those of us wired for care—who lead with our hearts—the current environment is like a constant, low-grade trauma.
Our nervous systems are stuck on high alert, receiving threats not just from our immediate environment, but from the “leaders” in the headlines, and the policies shaping our communities.
This isn’t a character defect.
Our nervous system wasn't designed to handle a continuous stream of meanness, division, and emotional abuse.
It’s designed to handle a brief crisis, recover, and return to a settled baseline. But right now, the crisis never ends.
We haven’t gotten the "all clear" signal, and our body can't find its way back to safety.
This is the definition of chronic stress.
A concept we use in trauma therapy is the Window of Tolerance.
The window is our optimal zone where we can handle stress and emotion without breaking down.
Right now, the world is constantly pushing us out of that window and into survival mode, cycling us through predictable, exhausting states:
Existential Dread (The Freeze):
This heavy, sinking feeling is our system processing the very real threat of loss. We feel the dread in our guts, and it sends us into a freeze state.
We feel paralyzed, unable to prioritize, and convinced that taking action is futile.
Burning Anger (The Fight):
This protective fire ignites when we witness injustice, cruelty, or policies that actively harm vulnerable people.
This outrage is absolutely valid. It’s our ethical core fighting back against the moral injury we’re witnessing. But it can be draining, too.
Defeat and Sadness (The Collapse):
This is the inevitable crash after the anger fades. The sense of powerlessness leaves us heartbroken and depleted, leading directly to burnout.
This isn't just "news fatigue," it's the pain of a sustained moral conflict where the fight seems endless.
The cycle is the signature of a deeply caring person whose system is in constant overload.
Our chronic guilt reflects our external sense of failure to fix a world that is not ours to fix alone.
For those of us in the helping professions, finding peers who share this burden is essential for survival.
The Conflict of Care and Conscience
For some, being a caretaker means upholding human decency.
We believe in safety, equity, and the dignity of every person.
But what happens when the very fabric of our society contradicts these core values?
The conflict we feel isn’t an “abstract political disagreement,” it’s a direct, visceral threat to our ability to live in alignment with our ethics.
Just look at the headlines: immigrant families kidnapped and dehumanized, healthcare denied to Black women giving birth, trans youth being targeted, abortion access being dismantled.
This is moral injury.
It’s the difference between a client having safe housing or access to life-saving care and facing devastating loss.
It's the difference between dignity and dehumanization.
How do we teach a client that they’re inherently safe and worthy when the world they walk into proves to be actively hostile?
This conflict sits in the pit of my stomach every single day.
It’s a constant, grinding realization that to be a person of integrity right now is to be in a state of righteous, exhausted resistance.
Our outrage is valid. Our compassion is a muscle that’s fatigued but not broken.
Directing Privilege and Finding Community
I can’t afford to let this chronic overwhelm paralyze me.
Our nervous systems need rest, but our core needs sustainable action and connection.
Healing from chronic stress doesn't mean becoming numb, it means supporting ourself enough to feel everything without shattering our inner core.
We have to acknowledge that if we're reading this post right now, we likely hold levels of safety that others don't.
As a white cis citizen, I know that my privilege gives me access, safety, and voice that many of the people I care about don't have.
It isn't a burden to feel guilty about, it's a resource to be used with clear intention.
We can channel that fierce, burning anger into sustainable practices:
Local, Tangible Action:
For me, this looks like intentional action that provides a direct, measurable counter to the cruelty I see.
I volunteer at the Routt County Humane Society and Integrated Community in Steamboat and with the Refugee Development Center in Lansing. It’s a small act that reminds me that kindness still works.
I also make sure I shop as much as possible at my local Latin markets—it's a simple, reliable act of consistent community support and respect.
These actions give my anxiety a place to land.
Our assignment isn't to fix the global crisis immediately.
Our assignment is to protect our compassion and to model what it looks like to be human and heartbroken and still fiercely loving.
An Invitation to Thank Our Outrage
Before we close, I want to acknowledge that fierce, angry part of us: beautiful Outrage.
She’s the part that pushes us to act, even when we’re exhausted. We don't want to get rid of it, but we do need to offer some love.
Here’s a quick Internal Family Systems (IFS) reflection to acknowledge that part of ourselves:
Locate It: Close your eyes and notice where anger or outrage lives in your body. Is it heat in your chest? Clenched in your fists? Pounding in your stomach? Tightness in your jaw? A buzzing in your head?
Greet It: Say, "Hello, Outrage Part. I see you."
Acknowledge Its Job: Ask it, "What are you afraid will happen if you don’t stay this angry and loud?" Wait for the answer. It might say, "The world will collapse," or "No one will fight."
Thank It: Thank that part for its incredible dedication. Say, "Thank you for protecting our values. Thank you for caring so fiercely about dignity and justice. We need you, and we’re going to work together."
Offer Relief: Place a hand over the area where you feel the anger. Send it a sense of warmth and grattitude, reminding it that while the fight continues, it doesn't have to carry the entire weight alone today.
Hold your outrage like she’s precious.
Let it be the fuel for one small, meaningful action today.
Let your exhausted sadness, anger and outrage remind you of how deeply we care, and how lucky we are to still feel.
~carly ☼
