Hey, friends, this message isn’t for everyone.

It’s not for people who are okay.

If you’re perfectly fine, you can skip this.

If you’re emotionally regulated, mentally stable, and physically well-rested, go ahead and opt out. Gold star today!

If your nervous system isn’t all sorts of jacked up, your sleep isn’t utter trash, your breathing isn’t short and shallow, and your faith in humanity isn’t hanging by the thinnest of threads, please feel free to navigate away and enjoy the rest of the day.

I’ll give you a second to see yourself out…

…

… Alright, if you’re still here, I’m assuming you’re in some state of profound not-okayness: that the unrelenting barrage of Constitutional crises, perpetually breaking bad news, and what-the-hell-is-next social media nightmare fuel feed has left you reeling and rudderless.

Whew, thank God you’re here!

I’m glad to know I’m not the only one noticing a sense of dread buzzing in the background operating system of their daily routine, contending with a thick brain fog that now makes simple tasks Herculean, and wondering how I’m supposed to go on with normal life when we’re rapidly sliding into a fascist abyss that most of the people around me seem oblivious to.

And honestly, that helps.

Sometimes, when we’re not okay, the thing we need most is to know that someone else isn’t okay either; that we are not alone in the despair. That sorrowful solidarity is medicinal.

We should normalize radical not-okayness today.

There are a billion books, think pieces, video tutorials, and news stories providing proven strategies for maintaining emotional, mental, physical, and relational health in difficult times: hydrating, exercise, nutrition, meditation, journaling, prayer, volunteering, play, and community, to name a few.

We should be taking advantage of every tool at our disposal to keep ourselves from sinking beneath the weight of the existential tsunami we’re currently being bludgeoned by.

But, we also need to realize that even the best self-care recipe, workout regime, or spiritual practice isn’t foolproof in days like these.

We aren’t equipped for this kind of sustained trauma, no matter how competent or well-read we are.

Regardless of our work ethic or education, our systems are not built to be in perpetual fight-or-flight urgency.

We cannot survive uninterrupted chaos forever, as high-functioning, emotionally mature, or mindful as we might be.

There is no manual for this shit.

Not being okay doesn’t mean your faith isn’t strong enough.

It doesn’t mean your attitude isn’t positive enough.

It doesn’t mean you’re overly negative or weak or emotional.

All being not okay right now means is that you’re passing the human test; that you’re a feeling, thinking, self-aware being who refuses to pretend they don’t see that the world is on fire, or to maintain the facade that they are somehow unaffected by that fact.

The last thing we need right now is to waste time and energy trying to convince ourselves or anyone else that it’s business as usual inside our heads.

Last week, I caught myself lying to a neighbor in the grocery store. We noticed one another in adjoining checkout lines, and he asked me how I was, and I smiled and said, “I’m doing well.”

Doing well? I thought to myself, still smiling. You are so full of it. You’re a few thousand miles from well.

When I asked my friend the same question, he too smiled and said, “I’m Good.”

I wondered if he wasn’t lying, too. I hoped he was.

Of course, it would have been more than a little awkward for the clerks and other shoppers if two grown men unpacked their grievances and inventoried their outrage there in the express line. That kind of emotional purging is not appropriate everywhere.

But, in general, we’ve all gotten used to self-censorship when it comes to acknowledging our burdens, and that isn’t helping anyone. It doesn’t make us more effective or more capable; it just makes us less honest.

Today, release yourself from the expectation of holding it together, give yourself permission to crash out, stop apologizing for your rougher-than-usual edges, and let yourself off the hook for dropping some balls.

It’s not you, it’s what you’re going through.

It’s good to be not okay with genocide or authoritarianism or inhumanity or war, especially when far too many seem okay with such things.

To the burnt-out, pissed-off, brokenhearted, unrested, and unwell out there, welcome.

Let’s be not okay together.

That’s how we will make it okay.