These
are starting points. Each one is a small, doable action that can help
you interrupt the spiral, regain a sense of direction, and stay
connected to what matters.
Start anywhere. Just pick something
that meets you where you are. Then try another tomorrow. Or not. This
isn't a performance. It's an invitation to explore and experiment. It’s
an offering to prime the pump of your own creative capacities.
Name what still matters. Speak it out loud or write it down.
Take a no-scroll hour. Just be where you are.
Text someone: “Thinking of you. No pressure.” Start small.
Make a “don’t adapt to this” list. Keep it visible.
Cancel one nonessential task. Let the gap be restorative.
Start a shared doc called “What We Still Believe.” Invite a few trusted people.
Buy a banned book. Read it. Lend it. Talk about it.
Choose one task that aligns with your values. Do that first.
Unfollow one source that fuels distortion. Even if it’s “on your side.”
Say, “I’m not sure yet.” Let it be a position, not a weakness.
Keep a screenshot folder called “I’m not imagining this.” Fill it when needed.
Write a legacy letter. Not for ego—for clarity.
Write down one lie you’ve stopped believing. Honor that shift.
Reclaim a phrase you stopped saying. Say it again.
Sit in silence for five minutes. No fixing. Just feel what’s there.
Post one link that affirms your values. No hot take needed.
Check on someone who might be isolating. No agenda. Just presence.
Use the word “we” instead of “I” in one sentence today. See what shifts.
Create a folder called “Waypoints.” Fill it with anything that helps you navigate.
Ask: What’s one thing I can still protect today? Then protect it.
Switch to cash or a local credit union. Move with your values.
Write a short note to someone who shaped your ethics. Let them know.
Keep a visible object near you that reminds you who you are.
Tell one true story that doesn’t fit the current narrative.
Say “I need a minute” instead of pushing through. Protect your pacing.
Reach out to someone older than you. Ask what they’ve seen before.
Start a new text thread called “Tiny Moves.” Add one thing a week.
Delete one productivity hack that makes you feel like a machine.
Refuse to comply in advance. Notice when you start to. Stop.
Write down your red lines. Even if you’re not close to crossing them.
Attend a local meeting—even if you don’t speak. Presence is a signal.
Donate to a bail fund or mutual aid project. Even a little helps.
Display a quote, phrase, or symbol that grounds you. Public or private.
Relearn one thing your ancestors survived. Trace the resilience.
Take a walk with someone who doesn’t need fixing. Just witness each other.
Remove one app that hijacks your attention. Reclaim your bandwidth.
Check in with someone who's angry. Let them be angry. Listen anyway.
Begin a playlist that helps you remember who you are. Music is memory.
Name one thing authoritarian systems want you to forget or disavow. Write it down.
Make something. Not to sell. Not to post. Just to create.
Wear something meaningful. Even if no one asks.
Gather banned or endangered books. Start a freedom shelf.
Use one plainspoken truth in a conversation that matters.
Host a no-agenda dinner. Let people just be.
Start a paper journal labeled “I Am Still Here.”
Offer someone else the benefit of the doubt—once.
Block out one hour as unstructured time. See what emerges.
Stop apologizing for how you’re surviving.
Keep one object that reminds you of a future worth fighting for.
Visit a place that holds memory. Let it teach you something.
Say “no” without an explanation—once this week.
Learn a neighbor’s name. Just start there.
Name what the harm cost you. Not to dwell, but to remember.
Create a backup plan that protects your values, not just your income.
Write a refusal. Don’t send it. Just know you could.
Abolish one internalized rule you never agreed to.
Teach someone one thing you know about surviving this moment.
Ask someone younger what they’re seeing. Listen. Don’t correct.
Try one way to befriend yourself today. Grace, self-compassion, pausing, letting go of shame.
Make a timeline of your moral clarity. Track what’s stayed true.
Resist the pressure to summarize. Let complexity stand without apology.
Put something old to new use. Let continuity be an act of care.
Show up somewhere you’ve been avoiding. Say little. Be there anyway.
Read one account from a community you’re not part of. Let it complicate your map.
Write a future memory you want to make real. Give your imagination something to reach for.
Start a Sunday ritual that feels like continuity. Repetition can be resistance.
Create a shared photo album called “We’re Still Here.” Make survival visible.
Offer someone a microgrant or cash gift—if you can. Mutual aid doesn’t have to be big to be real.
Repair something small that you’ve been neglecting. Restoration is a form of presence.
Say “I’m protecting my energy” instead of making excuses. Claim your boundaries out loud.
Name what feels like home—and who’s not safe there yet. Let that gap guide your commitments.
Record your voice reading something that matters. Save it for yourself or someone else.
Say no to urgency once. Let it pass without chasing it.
Look for the helpers—and thank them out loud. Gratitude keeps the connective tissue alive.
Resist cynicism in one interaction. Stay real, not performative.
Make or update your will. That’s a move too—toward clarity and care.
Give someone permission to grieve without explaining. Make space for what can’t be fixed.
Watch how you speak to yourself. Say one kinder thing.
Reconnect with someone you drifted from. No explanation needed—just begin again.
Let something take time on purpose. Signal to yourself that not everything needs to be fast.
