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Ask a Queer Coach: How do we explain the complexities of queer identities?

Keith Aron — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 10:00:36 GMT

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Welcome to Ask a Queer Coach, the Qstack monthly feature where Transformational Coach and Associate Editor Keith Aron gives his best coachy take on questions from Qstack community about sticky, scratchy or sludgy life situations. Have a question you wish you could ask a queer coach—about identity, relationships, work, creativity, community or becoming more yourself? We invite you to submit your questions for consideration. Big crossroads or small stuck places welcome. Submissions can be anonymous. DM Keith directly.

Greetings, Qstack! This month’s quandary was submitted by (she/her), author of The Passionate Writer, a brilliant Substack focusing on wellbeing as part of the writing journey. Thank you, Tali, for submitting the following question for our collective reflection and dissection:

In a world that embraces labels and clear-cut definitions, how can I explain all that I am in plain language to others, if I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle clear to myself yet? When I say I’m pan and genderfluid, some people ask what it means. I have no issue explaining being pan, but gender fluidity is harder to explain, especially the fact that sometimes I feel genderless. I wonder if I should keep this to myself until I have the right words... But do we ever find the right words?

“We are not what other people say we are. We are who we know ourselves to be. And we are what we love.” —Laverne Cox | Photo by David Clode on Unsplash]

These are such great questions, right on time for Pride month. The queer universe is diverse, vibrant and dynamic. As individuals, we’re not static, and as a community, we are not a monolith. Our beloved rainbow is, alas, but a starting point and a symbol. Its limited color palette comes nowhere near representing the multiverse of queer identities. How can we possibly come up with words to convey the subtleties and brilliance of our light? I have thoughts to offer, of course. And as always, please take what you like and leave the rest.

The Elephants in the Room: Complexity and Nuance

Before digging into Tali’s question, I think it might be helpful to name some of the nuanced reality we rarely hear mentioned when people rail against the emergence of yet another queer identity label (or pride flag)1. Here’s just a small smattering of that complexity:

Every conceivable experience and expression of gender and sexuality has probably existed for as long as there have been humans. Just because something hasn’t been named doesn’t mean it hasn’t existed.
Our intrinsic sense of gender and/or sexuality might organically shift. This is true not just for openly queer folx. This is true for humans (and plenty of other species, too).
As Tali aptly noted, we live in “a world that embraces labels and clear-cut definitions.” In fact, we live in a world where we’re often given no option but to identify using limited categories centering the gender binary and cis-hetero normativity.

Delineating Circumstances and Beliefs, Tools and Needs

Rarely can we change systemic or societal circumstances such as the realities of homophobia or transphobia; however, we can more often shift how we think about and relate to such intractable circumstances. If I were with Tali in person, I’d try to evoke awareness about the thoughts and beliefs buried in her questions. Why does it feel important to explain her identities to others? What is she hoping will come of explaining herself?

Any authentic response from Tali would be the perfect answer. Really. Because any and all of her reason(s) would point to the underlying need(s) she’s trying to meet for herself.

For example, Tali might believe that a well-crafted explanation would help clarify her self-concept and/or increase her sense of authentic self-expression. Authenticity and self-expression are universal human needs in and of themselves. Alternately, she might point to reasons like cultural belonging; finding/building community; or making societal or cultural change2. Some of the possible needs I hear there include structure, stability, acknowledgement, connection, equality, respect, and empowerment.

It’s important to remember that language and labels aren’t inherently good nor bad. They’re simply tools, or strategies, we might employ in trying to meet our needs. Well-wrought language could be an effective tool or strategy to meet some of Tali’s potential needs. But the language isn’t the need itself.

Distinguishing our needs from the tools and strategies we hope will meet them opens up creative problem-solving space. It empowers us to brainstorm alternate tools and strategies, should we find our first choices out of reach. There are almost always more ways than one (and sometimes many) to meet a need.

Here’s another important caveat to consider about language and labels. Like most tools or strategies, they can be misused and/or weaponized. Language and labels are all too often used — sometimes unconsciously and sometimes deliberately — to pigeon-hole, stereotype, or pathologize. Left unchecked, our apprehension about this kind of misuse has the power to keep us perpetually closeted.

Clarifying our Own Definitions

Let’s zero in on another part of Tali’s question that relates to staying hidden:

I wonder if I should keep this to myself until I have the right words…

Again, if I were coaching Tali in person, I’d want to ask some questions to get at her underlying beliefs: What does “right” mean to her here? And how might she recognize the “right” words? Would confirmation of this “rightness” come from someone or something outside of her, or would it be some sort of internal indication, like physical sensation or emotion? Without clarity about these specifics, it’s difficult (maybe even impossible) to unpack her following question:

But do we ever find the right words?

Oh, how I feel this question. I really do. Most all of us have been conditioned to make calculated choices based on predictions of rightness/wrongness or goodness/badness, without questioning what makes something “right” or “wrong,” “good” or “bad.” We may also hesitate to question who gets to make those value judgments or what criteria they’re using to get there.

This is a high-stress, high-drama game, with very high stakes. This game disregards the aforementioned nuance and complexity and always ends with a “winner” and a “loser.” But as Queer folx, when we play this game with our identities, we lose every time, because the rules favor cis-heteronormativity. Society tells us in a million different ways that queer identities are wrong, bad, or at the very least, not central. And it’s unlikely that society will become queer-centric anytime soon (indeed, we are experiencing greater marginalization than we have in decades).

All of that being what it is, my hunch is that our perception of “rightness” is directly proportional to the sturdiness of our subjective belief in who we are and who we say ourselves to be at any given moment. In other words, true “rightness” is an inside job. But inside jobs need not be done in isolation. In fact, they’re done with greater ease and efficacy when we resource ourselves with community and sometimes professional supports.

Integrity, Agency and Boundaries

On that note, let’s circle back to one last piece of Tali’s question:

how can I explain all that I am in plain language to others, if I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle clear to myself yet?

Let me cut to the chase: I don’t think we can. We can only honestly convey our current level of understanding about a thing, including our identities. Anything beyond that requires that we guess or perhaps embrace ill-fitting language or force ourselves to settle for a false or contrived identity. While none of those options are the end of the world (and can, in fact, be an organic part of a process of becoming), chances are that any of them might leave us feeling disempowered, disingenuous, demoralized or all of the above.

Perhaps the real question might be this:

When pressed for explanations about her identity, what options might lead Tali to feel the greatest degrees of alignment with her sense of integrity, her sense of agency, her truth?

Tali’s words suggest to me that one thing she’s feeling clear about is not yet feeling clear about all the pieces of her identity. The way I see it, at least a couple of viable possibilities emerge from that clarity. One might be to state that she’s in a process of discovery about it. Another might be simply to forgo trying to explain herself at all, and instead setting a kind but clear boundary around answering something personal.

Before we wrap things up, I want to offer a bit more about boundaries. We have the right to set internal and external boundaries that help us feel emotionally safe. This might mean telling the anxious parts of ourselves who feel we need to conform that it’s safe to stay silent. Or, as I said above, this might require us to stand our ground with inquisitive outsiders about keeping such information private for personal reasons. The key idea here is that unless we’re legally compelled otherwise, we get to choose what we tell, and to whom we tell it. And that keeps us rooted in our integrity and agency.

Summing it All Up

Okay. Let’s regroup and break this down into a few takeaways:

We can’t often change societal or systemic circumstances, but we can shift the way we think about and relate to them.
Distinguishing between our needs and strategies opens space for us to think more creatively and flexibly about how to meet our needs.
Understanding our own definitions and familiarizing ourself with the ways in which we recognize what’s true for us is essential for making informed, aligned choices.
Making informed, aligned choices and setting healthy emotional boundaries keeps us fastened to a sense of power and agency.

What do you think, Qstack? Have you navigated something similar to Tali’s situation? What wisdom emerged from your experience? Comment below. And if this resonated for you, give me a thumbs up!

Keith Aron (he/they) writes Big Blue Sky Dragonfly, a Substack about finding the sweet spot between belonging and authenticity. He’s a trans and queer transformational coach, writer, erstwhile Jack of all trades, proudly witchy weirdo, and honorary tree. Find him at keitharon.com.

I like to reference the Fandom LGBTQIA+ “Identities” tab periodically to stay in touch with emergent language related to queer identities.

For a more comprehensive look at the reasons gender and sexual identity labels could be important, I recommend this article from Psychology Today.

Ask a Queer Coach: Joy in a time of hardship

Keith Aron — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 12:00:59 GMT

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Greetings, Qstack! I hope this finds y’all well as can be at this moment in history. Our global queer community continues to be on the receiving end of the firehose of fuckery, and this month’s question is right on time. Let’s get into it.

April’s quandary comes from , author of Transcer, an amazing Substack chronicling his audacious, inspiring experiences of surviving cancer while trans. Thank you, Ash, for submitting these pithy nuggets for collective reflection and dissection:

We’re living at a time when so many people are in fear and pain. Especially in the queer community (BIPOC queers even more so). Trans and gender expansive people are watching their rights disappear each week it seems. Sometimes each day.
For those in the acute pain of survival mode, watching others enjoy life can create resentment. On the other hand, even if they’re not experiencing joy themselves, those in survival mode may not appreciate being the excuse or reason someone didn’t celebrate or acknowledge the good in their lives.
The world needs to see queer joy, and we need to share the good things or we will drown in a sea of despair. Joy, celebration, and “good” can’t be tamped down. It’s resistance. It’s our history. It’s pride.
So, my questions are…how do we — or can we, in the times we’re in — share our joy without hurting or offending those in our community who are in pain? And if we can’t, how do we mitigate the harm?

“Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say ‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’ But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.” [Quote by Kahlil Gibran; Photo by 愚木混株 Yumu on Unsplash]

I love-hate these questions, Ash. I hate the reality you’ve so eloquently named, and I love the careful consideration you’ve given the complexities of that reality. I also love your heartfelt wish to do no harm to yourself or others and how relatable these questions and wishes are.

If you were here with us last month, you might recall there was a fair amount of focus on both/and-ness. Life, in all its lifey-ness, is nothing if not full of both/and, and I hear a lot of this in Ash’s questions, too. After sitting with these conundrums, I’ve both got a few thoughts and an invitation:

If something isn’t a fit, pitch it.

Clean vs Dirty Pain and the Projection of Shame

We probably all agree that even under the best of circumstances, life carries some ouch. Humans come pre-assembled with pain receptors, and some amount of pain is inevitable, even for the most privileged of the privileged. Right now however, queer folx — particularly who identify as BIPOC — are undeniably targets of calculated oppression and cruelty. The related injuries and consequential losses are real, and they are many. Full stop.

Those indisputably legit injuries and losses create what psychology sometimes calls “clean” pain - the unavoidable pain (emotional, spiritual, mental and sometimes physical) that arises organically and consequentially from injury and loss.

Clean pain is no fun. But it subsides and eventually passes. “Dirty” pain is a different story. This is the suffering that comes from negative narratives we create (or someone else creates and we take on) about the causes and conditions of injury and loss. We might judge our situation, shame or blame ourselves for it, futurize it, or create some other anxious, angsty story about it. These narratives layer additional misery onto the already-significant base of clean pain, and we tend to ruminate on them until they solidify into pseudo-reality.

Ash’s scenario lends itself to narratives with disloyalty and survivor’s guilt as central themes. I can also imagine all sorts of other speculative grist about this scenario we could easily run through the anticipatory worry mill. What if our joy rubs salt in their wounds? What if it plunges them into a black hole of compare and despair from which there is no return? What if it pisses them off, and they lash out, withdraw, or ghost us entirely?

What-ifs like this don’t crop up in a vacuum. They’re very often rooted in painful past experiences and/or internalized cultural messaging that romanticizes extreme loyalty and self-sacrifice and shames us for centering our own experience. “Self-centered” as a term gets a very bad cultural rap, indeed. There’s an implication that such a person is selfish and indifferent to the experiences of others. But centering our own experience in a non-narcissistic way simply means prioritizing the integrity of our wholeness — our emotions, our needs, our knowing — which then allows us to care for others in a healthier, more helpful way. We’ll touch more on this below.

Insidious shame is inherent in so many of our painful narratives. Because shame feels so caustic, most of us are masterful at suppressing it. It lurks undetected, as does our tendency to project it onto others. This kind of projection can lead us to feel like others are shaming us for our joy, whether they truly are or not. It can also fuel a belief that others experience shame about themselves or their circumstances when we expose our joy. Such projection sets us up to reactively mask our joy so as to protect ourselves, the other — or both — from the existential threat some part of us associates with shame.

Pinning down these dirty pain narratives before they pin us down requires we pay close attention to our own emotions, thoughts, and sensations. The body, with its constant biofeedback, stands ready to help us. Heaviness or exhaustion unrelated to physical exertion, injury, illness or any sort of exogenous substance are two of the most common ways in which the body tries to alert us to dirty pain.

The Awfulness of Aloneness and Skillful Empathy

So we’ve established that some amount of pain is part of being human. But why, sometimes, does it feel so utterly devastating and damn near unbearable? I think the answer relates directly to how alone we feel with our pain. When we don’t have adequate support around the emotional challenge of hardships, “hard” turns into something more toxic and traumatic. And when that happens, we reflexively armor against our emotions. Including — perhaps especially — joy.

Fortunately, there’s tremendous power in bearing witness for those in the grips of struggle. When we bring compassionate, nonjudgmental presence to their experience, it acts as an antidote to the toxic trauma of aloneness. When we listen with the intent to understand, rather than to fix or “figure things out,” we implicitly acknowledge and affirm reality for those we witness.

This is different than taking on emotional burdens. When we’re overly porous, it’s easy to lose our emotions in the emotional storms of others. This is why, paradoxically, it behooves us to stay self-centered. We have to know where we leave off and others begin in order to hang onto our joy and allow others to feel and express their emotions.

On the flipside of masking our joy is a temptation to pull or push someone out of their emotions by “cheering them up” with our joy overflow. This impulse can be intense — particularly in a culture that tends to favor positivity and pathologize anything else. But when we bypass, minimize or deny the grief, frustration, or anxiety that naturally accompanies struggle, we’re essentially gaslighting the person we’re trying to help and deepening their sense of aloneness and trauma.

When we’re able to practice skillful empathy, we have greater capacity to act as true accomplices and stand alongside those whose rights are being eroded. We find ourselves sturdy enough to fight their fight as though it were our own — without abandoning our own emotional experience.

The Trap of Mutual Exclusivity

Most of us have been conditioned to believe that two seemingly contradictory emotions can’t co-exist. For example, we may have a belief that grief and joy are mutually exclusive, or that one needs to be quarantined from the other.

Yet life is teeming with seeming contradictions, polarities and inconsistencies. More often than not, when we spot-check ourselves in any given moment, we’re feeling many different things all at once. This doesn’t make us bad or wrong or unbalanced; it makes us human. As Walt Whitman famously said, we contain multitudes.

Ash is absolutely right. Feeling and expressing joy is necessary, both personally and collectively. Joy is one of the primary emotions present at birth. So are sadness, anger, and fear. We’re meant to feel — and express — all of it. When we suppress rather than express, we risk serious health consequences, up to and including premature death. And that plays right into the hands of those trying to erase us. Allowing and expressing joy is a powerful act of resistance.

That said, there’s some amount of art to the timing of our emotional expression. If we see that someone is obviously in the grips of struggle, it makes sense to acknowledge their situation before outwardly expressing our joy. Otherwise, as we’ve said, we run the risk of coming off as bright-siding and increasing their sense of aloneness.

Bless the Mess…and Also Repair

At the risk of overkill, I’m going to say it again: pain is part of life. So is mess. There’s just no getting around it. In order to deeply feel any of our emotions, we have to feel all of them. And in order to move from merely surviving into thriving, we have to make space for the messiness and complexity of of it all. We have to bless the mess.

Speaking of mess, chances are we won’t always attune to others perfectly. Sometimes our timing will be off, and our empathy won’t be pitch-perfect. That, too, is part of being human. The good news of that bad news is that when we know we’ve made a misstep, we can acknowledge that, too, and try again. A little good faith repair goes a long way.

Lastly, a reframe for openly expressing our joy. When we freely both express our joy and honor the struggles of others (and our own, too!), we model wholeness. We also plant seeds of possibility and signal to our relational ecosystems — inside and out — that it’s safe to feel and express the full, wild, wonderful range of human emotion.

Summing it All Up

Whew. I’ve said a lot here. Thanks for hanging with me. Let’s recap. Here’s the prescription, as I see it:

Stay aware of dirty pain narratives around joy. Pay special attention to the amplification and projection of shame rooted in those narratives.
Center yourself in your own experience and stay in the both/and.
Practice skillful empathy and trust in the power of the compassionate witness.
Be an accomplice to the extent you’re able and repair when you’ve stepped in it.
Bless the mess.

What do you think, Qstack? Have you navigated something similar to Ash’s situation? What wisdom emerged from your experience? Comment below. And if this resonated for you, give me a thumbs up!

Ask a Queer Coach

Keith Aron — Tue, 24 Mar 2026 13:04:05 GMT

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Greetings, Qstack! I hope y’all are finding some sweetness amongst the sour during this terrible time of so much worldwide suffering. Add to that my heartfelt wish that you’re maintaining a workable pH balance of sorts between the both/and.

This month’s quandary comes from , author of the Substacks Messy Reinvention and Silent Horrors. Thank you, Waymon, for submitting the following question for our collective reflection and dissection:

I’m realizing a lot of what people liked about me was how easy I was to digest.

Funny. Palatable. Non-threatening.

The “good” gay. The inspiring deaf guy. The version that made people comfortable.

Now that I’m showing up more honestly, the energy is different. And I actually like that.

But there’s still a part of me that grieves how easy it was to be loved when I was performing.

How do you grieve that without turning yourself back into something consumable?

“What is needed is the constant unmasking of ego’s strategy.” [Quote by Chogyam Trungpa; Photo by Stephen McFadden on Unsplash]

Well. Talk about “both/and” (I hear no small amount of both/and in Waymon’s question)! All change requires letting go of some sort, and in the letting go, there will be loss. This is the case even when it’s “good change.” Even when we’ve longed for it. Even when we like what it yields and feel we made the right choice. Even then, still there is loss. And with loss, comes grief. Waymon’s loss and grief are both very real and very relatable.

So, how do we make space for the inevitable grief that accompanies change? How do we do that without letting it push us back into our old ways of being/believing/doing? I have a few thoughts to offer, along with the following evergreen invitation:

Take what you like and leave the rest, yo.

Setting the Stage: Cultural Conditioning

Before we dig in, I want to acknowledge the likelihood that most of us have been conditioned to process our thoughts through the warped machinery commonly known as all-or-nothing thinking. In the simplest of terms, this mechanism filters all things onto either this side of a binary or that, then adds a dollop of value judgment on top. Either something is this, or it’s that. Therefore, we feel either this way or that about it, because it’s either some version of right/good or wrong/bad. It’s a space hog of a cognitive distortion that leaves no room for nuance or contradiction.

Many of us have also been conditioned to react, rather than respond, to our emotions. We’ve gotten the idea that it’s not enough to simply feel them — we must do something about them — and the faster, the better. We’ve learned by cultural osmosis to greet our more challenging emotions with doubt and mistrust, to deny or minimize their existence, wield them as weapons, fix them, or shut them down altogether. Yikes, yikes, yikes, and yikes, with an extra shot of yikes.

So, it’s not surprising that Waymon feels apprehensive about entertaining grief’s arrival. My hunch is that he may be seeing this grief through the aforementioned distortion of the either/or lens, where he has only two choices. Say “yes” either to grief or to showing up honestly. There is no clear path to having it both ways.

Ferocity and Fragility. Both/And (again)

Implicit in this particular distortion is a sneaky little paradox. Waymon’s grief both holds more than its fair share of power and at the same time, it’s fragile. It seems to both have the power to potentially tip him over backwards, and yet it lacks the sturdiness to co-exist with authentic honesty. It may help to picture this tension as a tantruming toddler. What better model of simultaneous ferocity and fragility?

Would Waymon’s grief be appeased — maybe even disappear — if he were to revert to his old self? Probably not for long. Think about that toddler again. They might be temporarily distracted and placated by a toy, but not soothed at the roots as they would by the presence of a sturdy attachment figure. I suspect Waymon’s grief might quiet for a moment, but would then simply hop over and buckle itself into the loss of his authenticity. Grief doesn’t just go away on its own, nor can we silence it with some sort of hush money. And if we bury it, we bury it alive. It needs presence and support to truly settle. Just like the toddler.

So back to Waymon’s question. How might he feel/express/support his grief safely, without stepping backwards? How can he circumvent self-abandonment?

Safety and Comfort. Similar, but Different

Before we turn to solution, let’s chat about an important distinction. Comfort is not the same as safety. Nor is discomfort necessarily dangerous. Feeling grief can be quite uncomfortable. It can also be inconvenient and/or messy, because it slows us down. And that’s frowned upon in a culture that centers efficiency, productivity and positivity. That doesn’t mean it’s unsafe, though. Grief related to unresolved trauma is a different kind of animal — and for that, my suggestion would be to work with a skilled therapist.

In addition to feeling uncomfortable, processing grief can also use quite a lot of resources. So it makes sense to prepare and plan for this. Just as we might for any event we knew would demand a lot from us. We do ourselves a favor when we get curious about the kinds of “fuel” and supports we need to see us through such an event. For instance, maybe we need to set aside some dedicated grieving and recovery time. Maybe we need a support crew or accountability buddy. Maybe we need extra hugs or a compassionate witness who won’t minimize, shame or try to “fix” us.

Looking Under the Hood

After Waymon supports his grief and feels well-resourced again, he might also want to investigate whether it has any additional wisdom to offer about his needs. All our emotions are cues and signals meant to tell us how adequately (or inadequately) our basic human needs are being met.

It’s really up to Waymon to make his own call as to what his un-or-under-met needs might be in this scenario. But since I see a clue in his question, I’ll speculate. Here’s the clue:

But there’s still a part of me that grieves how easy it was to be loved when I was performing

From Waymon’s use of the word “easy,” I’ll deduce that a need for ease might be clamoring to be met more fully. “Ease” here might be roughly synonymous with peace, flow, harmony, or even freedom.

Here’s another thing about needs. Our needs are never “wrong” or “bad.” In a sense, they’re not even personal, because they’re universal to all human beings (although they fluctuate in terms of importance as our circumstances change). They really just are what they are, and our job is to meet them as wisely as we best can. What becomes problematic sometimes is that our strategy for meeting one need might cause us to neglect — or even abandon entirely — another.

Might there be a different strategy that could help Waymon meet his need for ease? I’d wager there are probably at least a handful of others. And they might look nothing at all like his old go-to, performing. Not even remotely, which is tricky for the brain. Finding an alternate strategy, or combination of strategies to provide a “good enough” level of ease might take both patience and a little experimentation. It will probably also be well worth Waymon’s effort.

Lastly, Waymon is only part of the equation here. If the people with whom he’s choosing to interact aren’t able to accept him when he shows up honestly, that’s helpful information for him to have. Painful, but helpful. In fact, it’s critical information for healthy discernment about his relational investments.

The Secret Sauce Recipe

Let’s sum it up here. To review, Waymon asked how he might grieve how easy it was to be loved when he was performing — without turning himself back into something consumable.

Here’s my recipe for the secret sauce:

Hold compassionate space for the discomfort/inconvenience/messiness of the grief. Witness its “tantrum” without trying to fix it, knowing that the storm will pass.
Refuel and recover.
Check under the hood for any un-or-under-met needs.
Evaluate current and alternate strategies for meeting those needs.
Adjust/adapt strategies for better balance across the universe of needs.

What do you think, Qstack? Have you navigated something similar to Waymon’s situation? What wisdom emerged from your experience? Comment below. And if this resonated for you, give me a thumbs up!

Qstack: Ask a Queer Coach

Keith Aron — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 11:02:24 GMT

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Welcome to Ask a Queer Coach, the Qstack monthly feature where Transformational Coach and Associate Editor Keith Aron gives his best coachy take on questions from the Qstack community about sticky, scratchy or sludgy life situations. Have a question you wish you could ask a queer coach—about identity, relationships, work, creativity, community or becoming more yourself? We invite you to submit your questions for consideration. Big crossroads or small stuck places welcome. Submissions can be anonymous. DM Keith directly.

Welcome to the inaugural installation of Ask a Queer Coach! Before diving in today, I want to say a big thank you to Pavini Moray, author of the brilliant Glitter Joyride Substack. Pavini got the ball rolling this month with the following:

I have recently returned to the US after a very extended stay in India. The air, while clean with blue skies, seems infused with fear. How do I protect my shanti when the environment I am in is suffused with cortisol vibes? How do I stay openhearted and connect with others when their nervous systems are jacked by the political climate? What is the relational cost for trying to stay clear of fear while my comrades are swimming in it? (And yes, I get my tremendous privilege in having the ability to leave, but it doesn’t change my experience of not knowing how to relate right now.)

OUCH. I felt these questions hammer hard as hailstones on the heart. Even though I’ve not had to grapple with the re-entry shock of landing in America’s socio-political cesspool after prolonged spiritual cultivation in a sacred setting, I still found Pavini’s dilemma damn relatable. So many of us — myself very much included — are feeling challenged to remain both serene and relational whilst in the midst of the category five stress cyclone of these times.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Let’s break down Pavini’s situation, one question at a time, in the spirit of “take what you like and leave the rest!” If something I say resonates, great. And if it doesn’t, let it fly.

“How do I protect my shanti when the environment I am in is suffused with cortisol vibes?”

The first thing that comes up for me here is the well-worn metaphor of the oxygen mask. I picture Pavini returning to what appear to be crystal clear, clean skies. I picture them smiling and inhaling deeply as they prepare to deplane after such a long flight. Then I picture them coughing violently as noxious fear fumes fill their lungs. And finally? I picture them instinctively pulling down their emergency oxygen mask, strapping it on, and experiencing the sweet relief of clean, filtered air before all the peace they’ve cultivated in India disappears beneath the rubble of crumbling consciousness.

But how should Pavini — how should any of us — effectively “filter” fear out of the air we’re surrounded by 24x7? That I don’t have an easy answer for, because…well, because different strokes for different folx, really. The kind of filter that works best for me might be slightly (or entirely) different for you. My preferred filter is to be in the middle of the woods by myself, letting the trees uptake the “carbon” of fear. But you might “filter” best by going to an art exhibit, sparring in a boxing ring, or doing any number of other things.

Regardless of what each of our unique filters look like, they need to have the same functionality. They need to leave us breathing a little easier and feeling solidly connected to some source of “oxygen” (truth) that’s bigger than the fear. We may not intuitively nor immediately know what kind of filter will do that for us — figuring it out might involve some trial and error, and that’s okay. It’s something that’s absolutely figure-outable.

Once we’ve got our filtration system in place, we’ll to take more than just a few sips of air. We’ll more likely need to saturate ourselves in our “oxygen” of choice and maybe even bank some of it. This will help us to build both a sufficient level of immunity for the toxicity of fear and also adequate muscle memory around how to detox if/when we need to.

Times truly have changed, and we can no longer count on there being a plenitude of clean (enough) air available in the collective ether. But taking the time to supply our own “oxygen” can be challenging, because urgency is one of the molecules bonded to the fear vibe. We will have to take time that it seems like we don’t have in order to do this resourcing. It will be hard, and it can be done.

“How do I stay openhearted and connect with others when their nervous systems are jacked by the political climate?”

Such a great question. It’s pretty obvious that nervous systems en masse are understandably jacked by the current political climate. And as humans, we come outfitted with mirror neurons that predispose us to empathy. So when we observe others experiencing and expressing emotions and sensations, it’s in keeping with our biology that we automatically and involuntarily mirror those emotions and sensations.

This can feel like a bit of an ambush. We might enter an interaction regulated, resourced, and looking forward to connection only to find ourselves abruptly fritzed when confronted by the overwhelm and anxiety of the other(s). Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a “sleep” mode for mirror neurons — as long as we’re “on,” so are they. But fortunately, there are things we might do to disrupt an emotional takeover.

This brings me back to the stress cyclone I mentioned earlier. When we know a storm may be coming, we can prepare in advance. We can fasten to a sturdy anchor. Again, I see this as some kind of indestructible, or near-indestructible, truth or concept that’s bigger than the storm. Perhaps a spiritual tradition or practice, perhaps the spaciousness of nature, perhaps the solidity of our own bodies that keep on keeping on despite it all. Something constant that stands the tests of time and chaos.

We can also fasten our focus on the most basic daily needs of nervous system regulation. Because if we don’t meet these needs at the level of “good enough,” we easily lose our way in the storm. These basic dailies include:

breathing (this seems easy, but when fear strikes, we breathe shallowly, if at all)
getting adequate rest
feeding ourselves well, hydrating and remembering to use the bathroom regularly
keeping our bodies at a comfortable temperature
managing our sensory stimulation so we’re neither over-nor-under-whelmed

The last thing I’m thinking of here is a bit more nuanced. It may also land as counterintuitive, and maybe also counter to the way we’ve been socially conditioned. We can choose NOT to dive into the emotional vortex with our comrades and kin. When we dive in, either as a rescue maneuver or simply in a show of solidarity, we all but guarantee that the parts of our brains capable of creative problem-solving and optimizing collective resources will sink. And all our best energy will be diverted to the task of keeping our heads above water.

If, on the other hand, we stand on the terra firma of loving detachment and nervous system regulation, we have so many more choices about how to help. And chances are good that our comrades’ mirror neurons may begin to slowly reflect our calm back to us. Because mirror neurons work in that direction, too.

“What is the relational cost for trying to stay clear of fear while my comrades are swimming in it?”

Another great question. And another one without an easy answer, because there are so many moving parts at play — relatively few of which are under our control. We’re nearly always powerless over others’ reactions to our choices. No matter how well-intentioned or skillfully choreographed they may be.

So what exactly do we have control over in our relationships? The way I see it, this boils down mostly to our own choices. What we do or don’t say, what actions we take or don’t, and what limits we set or don’t.

When it comes to setting limits, I’ve found it helpful to think first about internal limits. Those I need to set inside myself in order to make me — my body and my mind — feel like a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. Such limits might look like me asking an inner critic to step aside when it’s telling me I’m not doing enough. Or reassuring an inner kid part that it won’t get in trouble for saying “no.”

This safety and trust on the inside tends to widen the lens of my perspective and translate into a greater ability to set healthy external boundaries. And the healthier my external boundaries, the healthier my connections are within my circles of belonging. In fact, the healthier my circles of belonging are, period. Healthy limits are like kryptonite for unhealthy groups - they just can’t tolerate them consistently, if at all.

To answer Pavini’s last question more directly, taking care of ourselves may cost us relationships with others who aren’t able to take care of themselves. Folx who are caught up in cycles of self-neglect or self-abuse — even big-hearted folx who are doing much good in the world — may not be able to make space for others to set healthy limits as an act of self-care. And that’s a real loss that needs to be grieved. But at the same time, when we steadfastly honor our own limits, we deepen intimacy and trust with ourselves. And we open space for new relationships with others whose capacities align with ours.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on these questions, Qstack. Have you navigated something similar? What wisdom emerged from your experience? Comment below.