Refusing the “Everything’s Fine”

Healing in families, holding the news, and staying present without numbing

Jenny Korotko

May 28, 2026

Today I was struck by a mix of sadness and gratefulness. I noticed how much I value my morning routine—and how privileged I am to have one. I also kept noticing the quick tears that rose while listening to NPR. It continues to be such a dysregulating time to be an empathetic, want-to-be-in-the-know human.

I refuse to step away from the news; I feel a duty to at least know the main things. Who we bombed. How many people are on a hunger strike at the Delaney Hall ICE detention center (about 300 or more). Headlines like “Israeli attack on Gaza City kills at least 10, including four children”—and a wave of panic sweeps through me. Panic because these headlines no longer shock me. I’m getting numb. I don’t want to be numb.

As a trauma therapist, I hear horrible stories—abusive childhoods, cheating spouses, and pain so dark that multiple trigger warnings wouldn’t prepare you for the impact. I used to gravitate toward numbness because of my own traumas, so when it shows up now, in my body and in my thoughts, I panic. I don’t want to be numb anymore. And yet the world keeps normalizing death, destruction, pain, and abuse. This is not normal—far from it.

Recently, I’ve noticed a theme with my clients as they process how their childhoods shaped them into the hypervigilant adults they are now. Waiting for the other shoe to drop while sitting in otherwise comfortable lives—sometimes unable to feel comfortable at all. I hear how confusing it is to be in the families they were raised in. As adults, they wonder if anyone else notices the ongoing emotional distance they feel. This, too, is a form of numbing. Witnessing others numb can spark panic and, ultimately, a loneliness that’s hard to shake.

When you choose to heal—or have no choice but to heal your trauma wounds—it can feel very lonely once you’re well on your way. As healing deepens, you see more plainly how others in your family of origin choose denial, or the “Midwest nice” of “everything’s fine,” even when your gut knows how not fine it is.

All I can offer—to myself and to clients open to it—is to be in touch with yourself more intentionally when things hit you. When a headline makes you cry, or when one that used to make you cry doesn’t, be with that without judgment. Meet it with curiosity and understanding. Swim in self-compassion and empathy; that’s the water that heals. Because the moment you dip a toe into judgment, fear, panic, or anxious forecasting, you’re in a riptide—swept out to sea without a boat in sight. It may feel lonely to be healing. It may be confusing to hold multiple emotions in a single day.

Today reminded me that tenderness is a practice. I can’t stop every harm, and I won’t pretend it’s normal. But I can refuse to abandon myself. I can keep my hand on my heart when the waves rise, return to compassion when judgment bites, and choose connection over performance. This is how I stay human in a world that keeps asking me not to be.