When Silence Feels Safer—But Isn’t
“Trauma-informed care doesn’t end at the bedside. It asks us to show up—especially when it’s uncomfortable.” - Mary Coughlin
Some colleagues have shared lately that they just want to bury their heads. And honestly? I get it.
The sheer weight of what’s happening in the United States right now—socially, politically, emotionally—is a lot. The headlines come fast. The uncertainty cuts deep. For those of us who’ve dedicated our lives to healing, the chaos outside can feel unbearable. Sometimes, disconnection seems like the only way to preserve our peace.
I also see organizations doubling down on their core mission, choosing not to comment on what’s happening around us. And I want to be clear: that’s not a judgment. I know that from the outside, silence can look like disengagement—but sometimes it’s about protection, preservation, or the slow, quiet work of supporting people from within. Many are doing advocacy and care behind the scenes, in ways that matter deeply.
And still—I believe we need to name the cost of that silence, too.
Because what’s happening outside our clinics, hospitals, classrooms, and communities doesn’t stay outside. The political becomes personal. The systems we live in shape the policies we follow, the stress we carry, the care we’re able to give—and receive. This is especially true for those we serve who are already marginalized.
Avoidance may offer momentary relief, but it doesn’t create lasting safety. In trauma work, we know that suppression and dissociation have a cost. And I believe the same is true here: when we don’t name what’s happening, we risk normalizing it.
I also know that speaking up feels vulnerable right now. Everything gets politicized. And in such a polarized culture, it’s easy to fear being labeled “one of them” just for taking a stand. You might wonder:
Will I alienate my community? Will people think I’m partisan? Will this compromise my work?
But here’s the truth as I see it:
Care is not partisan.
Dignity is not partisan.
Trauma-informed principles are not partisan.
They are foundational to any ethical system of care, governance, and community.
This isn’t about politics.
It’s about protection.
It’s not about fear.
It’s about fidelity—to our values, our humanity, and our responsibility to future generations.
So no, I don’t think staying silent is a neutral act.
And I don’t believe disengagement is an option without consequence.
Instead, I believe in staying curious, connected, and courageous—together.
I believe that trauma-informed care doesn’t end at the bedside.
It is a way of being in the world.
TL;DR:
Avoidance may feel protective, but it comes at a cost.
In moments of societal trauma, silence isn’t neutral—it’s consequential.
Let your values—not your fear—guide your voice.
Care out loud. Especially now.
Let’s Talk:
What helps you stay engaged when the world feels overwhelming?
How are you holding your values in this moment?
What gives you hope?
Related Resources You Might Love:
[Project 2026: Reclaiming Democracy Through a Trauma-Informed Lens]
[The People’s Declaration: A New Social Contract Rooted in Care]
Holding the thread with you,
Mary
