Remember that old poster from the 70s or 80s?

The one with the cat hanging from a tree branch by its front paws, eyes wide, claws dug in, and the caption underneath saying something like Hang in there.

That’s how I’m doing right now.

Barely hanging on by my fingernails.

But still hanging on.

And I know I’m not the only one.

I think it’s important to say this out loud, even if it makes things uncomfortable: we are living through widespread, ongoing trauma right now. Some of it is sudden and shocking—the kind that hits like a breaking wave and leaves you gasping. And some of it is slow, grinding, always-there—the kind that seeps into your nervous system while you’re just trying to get through your day.

The news alone is enough to rattle you before breakfast. Add in economic pressure, political chaos, social fracture, and the constant sense that something bad might be around the corner, and it starts to take a toll. Even if you’re not directly in crisis, your body doesn’t know that. It just knows the world feels unsafe and unpredictable.

And yet… life goes on.

Clients still need things. Businesses still need attention. Families still need care. The expectation is that we keep showing up like this is all background noise. Like we should be able to compartmentalize better. Like professionalism means pretending none of this touches us.

I’m at the point where I don’t think that pretense is doing us any favors.

Because pretending we aren’t affected doesn’t make us stronger or more capable. It just makes us more tired. More brittle. More likely to snap over small things and then wonder what’s wrong with us.

When I talk to people honestly, I hear the same themes over and over. Shorter attention spans. Less tolerance for nonsense. Tasks that used to feel manageable now take twice the energy. A constant low-level stress humming under everything.

That’s not a personal failing.

That’s what widespread trauma looks like when people are still expected to function.

This isn’t me telling you to stop working or opt out of life. That’s not realistic, and it’s not helpful. But I am saying that trying to operate as if nothing has changed, when so much clearly has, creates its own kind of harm.

Adjustment is not weakness.

Adjusting your pace, your expectations and just what ‘enough’ looks like right now.

Sometimes adjustment means choosing steadiness instead of growth. Or doing less and letting that be okay. Sometimes it just means admitting, “Yeah, this is affecting me,” instead of silently wondering why everything feels harder than it used to.

If you’re feeling stretched thin, distracted, worn down, or like you’re hanging on by your metaphorical claws, please hear this:

You’re not alone and you’re not imagining it.

Some days, hanging on is the win.

Consider this a quiet check-in from someone else gripping the branch, doing her best to stay upright, and no longer interested in pretending everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.

We’re still here. And right now, that matters.

Still hanging on…,

Decoding the Shift: About Adjustment

When I talk about “adjustment,” I’m not talking about some big, intentional change or life redesign. I’m talking about the quiet, unplanned ways a lot of people are already adapting because pushing through the old way just isn’t working anymore.

You might notice you don’t have the tolerance you used to. For noise. For urgency. For nonsense. Things that once felt manageable now take more energy than they should, and that’s confusing if you’re used to being capable and on top of things.

You might notice your focus is spottier. Your patience runs out faster. Pushing harder doesn’t actually help, it just makes you more tired. And yet, the expectation is still to show up like everything’s fine.

Adjustment is what happens when you stop arguing with that reality.

It can look like doing less than you think you “should” and feeling uncomfortable about it. Letting some things stay undone longer than you’d like. Choosing steadiness over growth for now, not because you’ve quit caring, but because constant forward motion feels like too much.

This isn’t a mindset shift. It’s not self-improvement. It’s not fixing yourself.

It’s responding to the fact that the pressure hasn’t let up in a long time, and pretending otherwise costs more than you have to give.

If you’ve found yourself quietly recalibrating, even without meaning to, that doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. It means you’re paying attention.

You’re adjusting to the conditions you’re actually living in, not the version we’re all expected to pretend is normal.

That’s the shift I’m talking about.

Know someone who’s trying to work like nothing’s wrong? You’re welcome to share this with them

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