Becoming the Pause in a World That Wants Your Anger

January 2026 Reflections

When I returned to work after the holidays this January, I felt roiled. That’s the only word that truly fits.

The news has felt relentless. Stories out of Iran stirred grief and helplessness. Reports from Venezuela and Greenland added to the weight. And then the scenes out of Minneapolis — the violence, the fear, the heartbreak — stunned me. I found myself scrolling, heart racing, chest tight, mind spinning.

And I began to notice what it was costing me:

My steadiness.
My inner stillness.
My sense of groundedness.

Instead of being rooted in presence, I was being pulled outward into outrage, despair, and a sense of powerlessness. And while all of those feelings are understandable — deeply human — I could feel how they were draining me, disconnecting me from the very place I need to live from if I want to serve, support, or contribute meaningfully to the world.

Thankfully, I have practices. And I have community.

As a meditation teacher, I know how to sit with difficult emotions rather than push them away. So I began there: allowing the overwhelm, the grief, the confusion, the longing to help, the not knowing how. Letting it all be present. Giving myself permission to rest, to do less, to pause more.

During the recent snowstorms, I stayed inside and turned inward. I practiced and taught Tonglen — breathing in the suffering I see around me, breathing out light, compassion, and relief (you can listen to a guided practice above). I returned again and again to practices of remembering the stable, resilient place within me. That part of us that is not shaken by headlines, not consumed by fear, not hijacked by outrage.

I won’t pretend I’m “through” this. These are complex times. Tender times. Uncertain times.

But I am arriving at a deeper understanding:

This slowing down is not weakness.
This turning inward is not avoidance.
This stillness is not apathy.

It is conservation.
It is protection.
It is preparation.

Because when we are depleted, dysregulated, and emotionally flooded, we cannot show up wisely. We cannot serve sustainably. We cannot respond with clarity.

But when we tend to our inner world — when we listen deeply, cultivate self-compassion, strengthen our nervous systems, and anchor ourselves in presence — something shifts. We become less reactive. Less manipulable. Less available for others (including media cycles and political forces) to hijack our energy and funnel it into anger.

Instead, we become grounded. Clear. Intentional.

And from that place, our actions carry far more power.

Silence Is Not Submission

There’s a misconception I want to gently challenge: that silence equals passivity.

The silence I’m speaking of is not fear-based.
It’s not avoidance.
It’s not disengagement.

It’s the silence of deep knowing.
The silence of self-trust.
The silence of inner stability.

It’s the kind of silence that allows you to hear your own wisdom again. To understand your limits. To sense where your energy is best used — and where it is being unnecessarily drained.

True silence takes intention. It takes courage. It takes strength.

But it is also where we replenish. Where we metabolize what we’re witnessing. Where we reconnect to purpose rather than panic.

We need strength right now.
We need regulated nervous systems.
We need grounded hearts.
We need reflective minds.

Not so we can retreat from the world — but so we can meet it with integrity.

Changing Yourself Is Not Small Work

I often return to this truth:
It’s very easy to want to change the world.
It’s much harder — and much more powerful — to change yourself.

When you become more aware, more compassionate, more centered, more discerning… that change doesn’t stay contained within you. It ripples outward. Into your relationships. Your work. Your parenting. Your leadership. Your community.

This is not passive work.
This is revolutionary work.

As Maya Angelou so beautifully expressed:

“There is a quiet kind of power that moves mountains not by thunder, but by patience… Once you learn to hold your peace, the world cannot help but shift in your favor.”

My intention this year is not to be perfect at this, but to practice becoming the pause — someone who, when activated, chooses presence over panic, reflection over reaction, grounding over grabbing for certainty.

Because the world doesn’t need more outrage-fueled exhaustion.
It needs more regulated, rooted, compassionate humans.

And that work begins — always — within.