It’s Not Just You: Politics IS Affecting Our Mental Health

by Arielle Arbushites

People are no longer just asking each other, “How are you?” They’re asking, “Are you holding up?”

There is a distinct difference, because for many of us, the political climate has stopped feeling like something happening in somewhere else. It has moved into our living rooms, our health care offices, our schools, our workplaces, even our marriages, our relationships, our friendships, and our nervous systems.

Politics have always affected things, but they feel ever present, like a whole character in our daily lives. At worst, the villain we are up against. At best, the elephant in the room.

I worry we are sleeping less. Checking the news more, or not at all it hearts or minds can’t take it.

We may be wondering always what headline we’ll wake up to tomorrow. Are we carrying a baseline anxiety that never goes away? Our uncertainty has become chronic.

For some people, the stress is more abstract, though that is becoming rarer and rarer. For others, it is deeply personal.

If you’re an immigrant, or love someone who is, politics can determine whether your family feels safe.

If you’re LGBTQ+, politics may shape whether your identity is affirmed or debated.

If you’re a woman, politics can affect decisions about your own body and healthcare.

If you’re a federal employee, a teacher, a veteran, a scientist, a social worker, or anyone whose livelihood is influenced by government policy, political decisions can directly impact your work and your future.

For many communities, the current political climate is what decides whether they live or die in one way or another, literally or figuratively. Our brains weren’t designed to live in a state of constant vigilance. So many of us are in survival mode, no end in sight. That’s a tough place to be, always looking for the light at the end of the tunnel.

When every notification might bring another change, another loss, another reason to worry, our nervous systems can’t figure out if we are safe or not. We learn to stay alert. And eventually, that alertness becomes exhaustion.

Then sadly, that exhaustion can look like:  anxiety…depression…hopelessness…PTSD…numbness…

Acknowledging this doesn’t mean we have to or should stop paying attention. Democracy requires us to be participants, part of it all. But our participation does not have to mean emotional self-destruction. We can care deeply without getting caught in the fire every moment, we can advocate while protecting our own peace, we can help without feeling as though we must carry the weight of every injustice alone.

It all comes down to grief. So many of us are grieving. We’re grieving certainty and stability. We’re grieving places and groups and agencies we trusted. We’re grieving relationships strained by political division. We are grieving the way things used to be.

Grief should be named. It helps. We are all in it together, remember?

Hope should be named too. We can build strength if we remember to hold hands.

If your mental health feels more fragile than it did a few years ago, you are not alone. Many of us are struggling to navigate life in this place we call home.

Take breaks when you can, especially breaks that help you stay connected to people who help you feel grounded and safe, especially breaks that allow you to move your body so it remains a blessing not a burden.

Reach out for help - there are so many good people/agencies/groups waiting to catch you and walk the journey with you.

Take action in the form of advocacy or helping others if it gives your worry somewhere to go.

If nothing else, remember that rest is not surrender. It’s a way to stay alive, a way to prioritize your mental health so you remain well enough to keep showing up. And showing up is half the battle.