When the World Feels Like a Dumpster Fire (and Facebook Isn’t Helping)

Man, things are bad. Like, capital-B bad. The kind of bad that makes you want to crawl under the covers, disappear to Narnia, or just scream into the void until your throat gives out. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m confused, depressed, lonely—and when I layer my own personal drama on top of the global chaos, it’s like emotional Jenga with half the pieces missing.

The news? A hot, steaming pile of shit served up every second. And when that’s your daily diet, it’s quick to turn on the ones you love. It’s easy to believe the whole world is trash and there’s not one beautiful thing happening anywhere. And if someone dares to point out a silver lining or tells me to “just breathe”? I want to punch them in the face. (Metaphorically. Mostly.)

Recently, I got back on Facebook after five years. I left in 2020 when the virtual toxicity started outweighing any real connection. It was breaking my soul. But I returned for my new business, hoping maybe things had shifted. Spoiler alert: they haven’t. I literally just cannot. The false sense of safety behind a keyboard continues to dumbfound me. People post things they’d never say out loud, and it’s like Mike Tyson’s quote: “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.”

Violence isn’t the answer—but maybe we’re not getting metaphorically punched in the face enough. Because when your post starts with “They should,” “You should,” “I can’t believe that,” or even something sweet that turns sour halfway through… well, that’s not a conversation. That’s a plan for division.

I get it. We all want to be heard. Closet anyone? I understand being angry and scared. But screaming into the abyss of social media doesn’t heal—it just echoes back more rage, more self-loathing, more separation.

So what can I do?

I could crawl into bed. Tempting. But that’s not going to help anyone—not even me. What I can do is pause. Not fix everything. Not solve the world’s problems. Just pause. Yoga and breathwork aren’t magic wands, but they offer a moment. A breath. A chance to let the other car go first. To make eye contact with someone in the grocery store and smile. Even if it’s fake.

I’m no scientist, but isn’t there some law of physics that says when you push on something, it pushes back just as hard? The same goes for energy. For kindness. For presence. You get back what you put out.

So today, I’m choosing to push gently. To smile, even if it’s shaky. To remember that control starts with me. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to shift something.