I will not apologize for caring

Sanctuary Dispatch | Friday Reflections from the Wild Path

The Soft Rebellion

There was a time—before patriarchy, before empires, before ownership—when we lived by the rhythm of we.

We survived together.

We raised children in circles.

We mourned and celebrated and healed in community.

We didn’t ask who deserved support—we simply gave it.

Because it was understood: what happens to one of us, happens to all of us.

Then, slowly, the story changed.

The land was divided.

The gods became men.

The power shifted into the hands of the few.

And individualism was born.

We were told to focus on ourselves.

To rise alone.

To protect what’s ours.

To see others not as kin, but as competition or a burden.

And yet, some of us remember something different.

Even if we were never shown it, we feel it in our bones.

We remember a deeper truth:

That caring about others doesn’t make us naïve.

That grief over injustice doesn’t make us weak.

That collective well-being is personal peace.

Recently, someone tried to help in a way that brought all of this into focus.

I know he meant well.

He saw distress and offered his truth:

Focus on what’s good in YOUR life.

Ignore what's going on out there.

Don’t let the world get you down.

It echoed something we hear again and again in this culture:

Just take care of yourself.

But here’s the thing: that mindset might help someone survive… but it also explains how we got here.

This country is full of people who have endured real hardship—and instead of becoming more compassionate, they’ve become more protective.

They’ve come to believe that since no one helped them, others shouldn’t get help either.

That suffering earns you the moral high ground.

That struggle is a badge of honor—unless someone else is struggling differently.

It’s a worldview shaped by scarcity.

By disconnection.

By the lie that independence is strength, and interdependence is weakness.

But those of us who do care?

We’ve walked through fire, too.

We’ve hit bottom.

We’ve lost things we’ll never get back.

We know what it’s like to suffer alone—and that’s exactly why we never want someone else to.

And isn’t it strange?

As a society, we elevate saints and spiritual leaders who have sacrificed comfort for the sake of compassion.

We quote the Dalai Lama.

We revere Mother Teresa.

We admire Gandhi.

We worship Jesus Christ.

But when someone chooses people over profit, justice over comfort, or collective care over personal gain today—they’re often labeled foolish.

Naive.

Too sensitive.

Impractical.

We love compassion when it’s historical.

When it’s quiet.

When it’s safe and doesn’t disrupt the system.

But living compassion?

That threatens everything.

So no, we will not apologize for caring.

Not because we’re better.

Not because we haven’t known pain.

But because pain, when fully felt, doesn’t make you hard.

It makes you open.

We reject the lie that empathy is foolish.

We reject the lie that help must be earned.

We reject the lie that a good life means turning away from someone else’s pain.

This is not about politics.

This is about how we see the world.

And whether we believe this world belongs to all of us—or only to those who’ve been deemed worthy by systems of power, privilege, and control.

We remember the village.

And we’re not ashamed to want it back.

Sanctuary Dispatch

Friday Reflections from the Wild Path | A soft rebellion for the soul

This is where spirit meets resistance.

Each Friday, I share a dispatch from the edge of the old world—where systems are crumbling and something truer is rising.

These pieces weave together politics, power, and personal truth from a deeply human, heart-centered lens.

They are an offering of clarity in chaos. A reclamation of voice. A reminder that awakening is both inner and outer work.