Living Well in a Broken World: Survival Strategies for Heart Holders
- haidecounsellor
- Mar 24
- 5 min read
We live in interesting times, and some days, I find myself carrying a gnawing feeling in my stomach. As someone who is passionate about seeing people heal, relationships thrive, and potential realized — especially in those who view themselves as broken — witnessing what’s unfolding in the world tears my soul apart.
In response, I've had to develop survival strategies. These have included limiting my exposure to the daily news, unfollowing people who share degrading or attacking content, and steering clear of conversations focused on the hopelessness many are feeling. These limits are hard to implement, but necessary. At the same time, I intentionally focus on positive practices that nurture my spirit: daily walks in nature, reading quirky mystery novels, savoring a rich cup of coffee in the morning, and creating — whether it’s through writing, crocheting, cross-stitching, or photography.
This week, I had the privilege of attending the Psychotherapy Networker Symposium virtually, an annual learning event for psychotherapists. As always, it was filled with rich learning, hope, connection, and healthy perspectives on the world. I was curious to see how current world events would influence the discussions. To my relief, they weren’t ignored, nor were they placed at the forefront. The conversation acknowledged the challenges, but the focus remained on mental health and strategies for maintaining well-being amid adversity.
Zach Taylor reminded us of a thought shared by Jack Kornfield at a past Symposium: “Psychotherapists are the heart holders of the culture, and that’s not an easy job, especially right now.” As a therapist, this rings especially true in difficult times, like the COVID shutdowns and the current political climate. When the world seems to be falling apart, therapists often find themselves stepping into the gap — holding space for hope, fostering connection, and carrying the emotional weight of the world. It’s a heavy reality.
But I’m also a parent, and that’s where the intensity of this moment has hit me most deeply. When we chose to have children, we couldn’t have imagined the world they’d inherit. And now, I’ve found myself wrestling with questions like, “Was it selfish to bring children into such a broken world?” and “Do my kids feel the weight of it all — the hurt, pain, and hatred that seems so pervasive?”
Recently, I had an opportunity to speak with one of my children — a deep thinker who’s always had the ability to see things clearly and feel emotions intensely. As a teenager, mental health was often a challenge, so I assumed if any of my kids might feel regret about their existence, it would be them. During our conversation about current events, I found myself saying, “I feel like I need to apologize to you for bringing you into this world.”
The words they shared were both humbling and encouraging: “Mom, it’s okay. I’m thankful to be alive. As difficult as the world is, I’d rather be born and dealing with it than not have been born at all.”
Being a heart holder as a therapist is undeniably challenging. It’s rewarding, purposeful, but hard. And yet, even if we’re not psychotherapists or professional caregivers, we all carry the role of heart holders in some way. We hold our own hearts. We hold the hearts of our loved ones — our friends, family, and the people we encounter in daily life.
As we navigate a world in pain, I encourage you to take time to reflect on how you can live well in the midst of it. What are the things you need to limit or pull back on? What moves you toward bitterness, division, and anger? What fuels hopelessness or makes you feel disconnected from others?
And conversely, what should you move toward? What helps you nurture hope, to see people in their full complexity, rather than reducing them to stereotypes? What empowers you to speak up against injustice with wisdom, truth, kindness, and hope? What practices keep you grounded, so that the hearts you hold can remain secure, even when the world around them feels unstable?
It’s easy to look at the world and feel despair, especially when so much seems beyond our control. But our empowerment lies in focusing on what we can do. Look for ways to contribute to wholeness and healing. Find moments to connect with others — even in small ways. Say hello, smile, offer kindness. Share your stories, and be curious about the experiences of those who see life differently. In a world driven by power and competition, continue working for peace, healing, and understanding.
In my search for words that might encourage me during these challenging times, I came across these poems on grateful.org. I leave you with the words of Wendell Berry and Danusha Laméris, hoping they will strengthen and support you as you continue to hold hearts with tenderness.
~ Haide
The Peace of Wild Things
by Wendell Berry
When the despair for the world grows in me
And I wake in the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
Rests in his beauty on the water,
And the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
Who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
Waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world,
And am free.
Small Kindnesses
by Danusha Laméris
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
From Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection (Green Writers Press, 2019)
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