Living Through Waves of Political Violence: How to Continue Coping

In the last few years, we’ve watched headlines that once would have felt unthinkable. In October 2022, Paul Pelosi — husband of then–House Speaker Nancy Pelosi — was brutally attacked in his home. Not long after, Minnesota was shaken by tragedy when House Speaker, Melissa Hortman, and her husband were murdered in their home. And most recently, conservative activist Charlie Kirk was shot and killed while speaking at a university event.

These stories, different as they are, carry the same undertone: that disagreements have spilled beyond words, debates, and rallies into violence. Regardless of where you stand politically, it’s impossible not to feel shaken by these acts. They spark fears about gun violence, about whether civil discourse is dying, about whether human rights can endure in such a fractured environment.

The Emotional Toll

Each new headline lands like a wave. Shock hits first: How could this happen here? Then grief: for lives lost, for the shattering of safety. For many, anxiety quickly follows — a gnawing sense that if it happened to them, it could happen anywhere. Some people feel anger at a society that seems to be fraying; others retreat into numbness, unable to process yet another tragedy.

And woven underneath it all is the fear of what these events mean: that perhaps we no longer know how to disagree without dehumanizing each other, that our children may inherit a culture where violence feels normal.

Finding Emotional Ground

So how do we hold steady in a time like this — when politics feels less like debate and more like danger? While there’s no way to erase the reality of violence, there are ways to protect our emotional health and keep ourselves from spiraling into despair.

• Name what you feel. Fear and sadness are not weaknesses; they are normal responses to frightening events. Sometimes simply saying aloud, “I feel unsafe when I read about these shootings,” takes the power away from the fear.

• Pause the doomscroll. Immersing yourself in every update doesn’t make you safer; it just makes you more anxious. Set a rhythm — maybe checking trusted news sources once a day — and avoid sources that inflame rather than inform.

• Ground yourself in the present. When anxiety about “what if” starts to spiral, bring yourself back to what is real right now: your breath, the room around you, the feel of your feet on the floor. These small grounding practices signal to your body that you are safe in this moment.

• Channel fear into action. Whether it’s supporting gun safety efforts, volunteering for community dialogue initiatives, or simply having courageous conversations with neighbors, action creates agency. It turns helplessness into movement.

• Hold on to community. Isolation magnifies fear. Reach out to friends, attend community events, join spaces where respectful disagreement is possible. Even small connections help restore a sense of safety.

• Practice respectful discourse yourself. One of the deepest fears these tragedies stir is that we’re losing the ability to disagree with dignity. You can model another way: listen without interrupting, speak with “I” statements, and remember that behind every political view is a human story.

  
  

Facing Our Fears Directly

For many, the loudest fear is of gun violence itself. Preparing — by learning safety protocols, knowing exits in crowded spaces, or advocating for responsible gun policies — can help transform terror into readiness. For others, the deeper fear is about polarization: that we no longer share a common ground of respect. Practicing empathy, even when it feels undeserved, is one way to chip away at that divide. And for those worried about human rights, action is both a balm and a statement: staying informed, voting, supporting organizations that defend your beliefs.

Choosing Hope in a Fractured Time

It’s easy to look at these events and despair. But to live in constant fear is to let violence win twice: once in the act itself, and again in the shadow it casts over our daily lives.

Hope, in this context, isn’t naïve. It’s an act of resistance. It’s making space for joy, even while acknowledging pain. It’s practicing gratitude, remembering that alongside the headlines are countless unseen acts of kindness, courage, and compassion. And it’s holding on to the belief that respectful disagreement, though fragile, can still be reclaimed.

Because at the end of the day, no matter our politics, we share a desire for safety, dignity, and peace. And while we may not control the next headline, we can control how we care for ourselves and each other in its wake.