How to Stay Sane in an Insane World

There’s a heaviness in the air these days—a sense of dread that sticks to your skin. You feel it when you open your phone. You feel it when you hear the news. Gaza. Ireland. The United States, teetering on the edge of something that no longer feels theoretical. The headlines scream, the images burn into your memory, and the fear sits just beneath the surface of your every day.

Right now, it’s easy to feel like everything is falling apart.

And maybe, in some ways, it is.

But that doesn't mean you have to fall apart with it.

The Weight of Staying Informed

For many of us, staying informed feels like a moral responsibility. We want to bear witness. We want to understand what’s happening in the world, to amplify voices that are silenced, to show up for the causes and people we care about. But that responsibility often comes at a cost: the quiet, creeping toll it takes on our mental health.

There’s a difference between knowing and absorbing. Between reading the news and carrying it in your bones.

You start out wanting to stay aware, but suddenly you’re doomscrolling at midnight with a racing heart, trying to untangle centuries of geopolitical conflict through a 30-second reel. You’re checking updates compulsively, even when it makes you feel sick. You’re panicking—not just about what's happening—but about what it means that you can’t stop panicking.

This isn’t just compassion fatigue. It’s survival mode. And you’re not weak for feeling it.

It’s Okay to Step Away

Here’s the truth you might need to hear:

You are allowed to care deeply and take care of yourself.

You can believe in human rights, fight for justice, speak up for the oppressed—and also turn off the news for a day. You can light a candle, take a walk, hold a loved one close, or laugh at something silly on the internet. That isn’t selfish. It’s human.

Burnout doesn’t help the world. A wrecked nervous system doesn’t make you a better ally. If anything, it makes it harder to show up in meaningful ways.

Stepping away doesn’t mean you don’t care.

It means you’re learning to hold complexity.

The Myth of Constant Vigilance

There’s an unspoken message in many activist spaces: if you really cared, you’d never stop. You’d be angry all the time. You’d never look away.

But here’s the problem with that logic—human beings weren’t built to process the entire world’s pain 24/7. And caring isn’t about being constantly overwhelmed. It’s about being intentional.

Constant exposure to violence and tragedy doesn’t always translate into effective action. Sometimes, it just leads to paralysis.

What we need isn’t more panic.

What we need is more sustainable compassion.

That looks like:

Choosing a few trusted sources for news instead of consuming it all.

Setting time limits for when you check updates.

Giving yourself permission to feel joy, even when the world is burning.

Reminding yourself that being informed is not the same as being crushed.

Anchoring in the Small Things

When everything feels too big, look smaller.

Look at the friend who texted to check in.

Look at the meal you made with care.

Look at the way the sun hit the pavement this morning.

Look at your pet, snoring gently beside you.

These moments won’t fix the world.

But they can remind you that beauty still exists in it.

And sometimes, those tiny glimmers are enough to keep you grounded, to keep you present, to keep you sane.

You don’t need permission to enjoy small moments. You don’t need to justify your peace. Rest is not a betrayal. In fact, it may be the most radical thing you can offer in a world constantly demanding your fear.

Staying Connected, Without Losing Yourself

So how do we stay informed without unraveling?

Here are a few gentle practices to try:

Set boundaries with news consumption. Decide when, how, and from whom you get your information.

Practice one-act activism. Pick one cause or one action a week. Write a letter, donate if you can, share responsibly. Then stop. Breathe.

Find community. Isolation breeds despair. Talk to others. Grieve together. Hope together.

Create soft spaces. Make time in your day that is untouched by world events—gardening, journaling, reading fiction, making art.

Acknowledge your limits. You are not the entire movement. You are one person. And that’s enough.

In Closing

The world is terrifying right now. That’s not an illusion. That’s not your anxiety tricking you. It is scary—and your feelings are valid.

But so is your hope.

So is your joy.

So is your rest.

You are allowed to care without collapsing.

You are allowed to find peace without guilt.

You are allowed to stay human in a world that keeps trying to dehumanize everyone.

And if today, all you did was breathe and stay upright—

That’s enough.