A Simple Practice for Collective Grief

Tip: Listen, then read. This post is a perfect match for Joy Lab podcast episode 251: Why You Can't Escape the Sorrows of the World (and why that's a good thing)

Wars, violence, climate disasters, injustice—the sorrows of the world crash into our lives whether we're ready for them or not. And here's the thing: we're wired to care about all of it, even when it's not happening in our own backyard.

This is what Francis Weller calls the third gate of grief: the sorrows of the world. It's the collective losses we feel simply because we're human beings living on this planet together.

The Trap We Fall Into

Collective sorrows are uncomfortable. We may want to to shut down in response to them. To numb out. To convince ourselves we don't care about people we've never met, or causes that feel too big, or tragedies that seem distant. We create what we call the "illusion of separation"—this belief that we're isolated individuals who can opt out of caring.

But here's what the research shows (and what philosopher Joanna Macy taught): when we shut down our caring to protect ourselves, we don't just lose our capacity for grief. We lose our capacity for joy, flexibility, creativity, and resilience. As Macy wrote, "The mind pays for its deadening to the state of our world by giving up its capacity for joy and flexibility."

That's too much to give up.

The Way Through Is Together

We didn't evolve to regulate our nervous systems alone. Social baseline theory tells us we're wired to process grief and stress in connection with others. It's called co-regulation, and it's why 1,200 people showed up to a song circle in Minneapolis after a recent tragedy—to grieve together, to let their voices mix, to remember they're not alone.

You don't need 1,200 people, though. You just need one person who's slightly less activated than you are right now. Their calmer nervous system will help regulate yours.

Simple Joy Practice: The 10-Minute Sit

When collective grief hits, try this simple practice:

Set a timer for 10-20 minutes. Sit down. Do nothing.

Don't meditate. Don't journal. Don't try to process or fix anything. Just sit.

Turn your attention to your chest and belly. Ask yourself: "What am I feeling right now?"

Then ask: "Can I be with this without trying to fix it?"

That's it. Just sit with whatever shows up. The grief, the rage, the helplessness, the confusion. You're not trying to change it or make it better. You're just honoring that it's there.

After your timer goes off, reach out to someone. Text a friend. Call a family member. Join a community gathering—even if it's just a club that picks up garbage and eats waffles together (Aimee wants to start that club).

The point is this: grief is a team sport. And staying open to the sorrows of the world doesn't destroy us—it's actually what makes us most fully human and most capable of joy.