Roots in the Ruins: Healing in Uncertain Times

Danielle Morran
Mar 29
5 min read

The world has been shifting for years, and the structures we once leaned on are now creaking under pressure. Many feel unrooted, caught in the winds of political instability, economic uncertainty, and climate collapse. Society, at its best, functions like a thriving ecosystem—interdependent, regenerative, and deeply relational. But when that balance is lost, when extraction replaces reciprocity, we see the symptoms not just in our communities but in our very bodies.

For many, this societal unraveling does not exist in isolation—it collides with personal struggles that were already present. If someone is already carrying the weight of relational wounds, trauma, chronic stress, or mental health challenges, the instability of the world around them can feel like a storm hitting an already fragile tree. The cracks that were once manageable may now feel as if they are splintering wide open.

When the Forest Becomes Fragmented: Nervous System Responses to Collapse

Our bodies, like the natural world, respond to disruption in predictable ways. Just as a river, when obstructed, finds new paths to flow, our nervous systems adapt to stress and instability. Some of these adaptations mirror the way ecosystems respond to damage:

Wildfires of Hypervigilance: When structures of care weaken, fear spreads like dry brush catching flame. People become reactive, defensive, and distrustful, scanning for threats in every interaction. For those with a history of trauma or attachment wounds, this hypervigilance may feel familiar, as if the world has always been unsafe. Now, the stakes just feel higher.

The Freeze of a Dormant Winter: Just as trees shed their leaves in harsh conditions, many retreat inward when faced with uncertainty. Emotional shutdown, dissociation, and numbness are the body's way of conserving energy when safety feels out of reach. For someone already struggling with depression, burnout, or chronic stress, the weight of global instability can make even basic self-care feel impossible.

The Soil Beneath Us: Community Care: Beneath the forest floor, fungi create unseen networks that nourish struggling trees, sharing resources across distances. Even in crisis, mutual aid, land stewardship, and collective healing restore what institutions have neglected. For individuals who have felt alone in their struggles, this is an opportunity to seek connection—knowing that survival has always been rooted in interdependence. But it’s crucial to recognize that for many communities—especially those who have been historically marginalized—systemic forces like racism, classism, and ableism often block access to essential resources for healing. These barriers make it harder for individuals to access care, support, and opportunities for personal growth. Even so, communities have always found ways to resist, reclaim, and rebuild through mutual aid, solidarity, and collective care.

Holding Space for the Heaviness

As a therapist, I feel the weight of this moment, not just in my personal life but in the lives of those I work with. The grief, exhaustion, and uncertainty seep into the therapy space, carried in the stories of those trying to navigate an increasingly unstable world. I, too, wrestle with the question: How do we hold all of this?

There are days when the heaviness sits in my own body like a dense fog when I struggle to find words that don’t feel hollow in the face of so much loss. Witnessing the weight can be exhausting—a quiet accumulation of sorrow, holding what feels unholdable.

But then, there are moments of re-rooting. The reminders that, even in collapse and grief, we can find ways to tether ourselves to something steady—relationships, rituals, and small, everyday acts of care. Being present is an offering. In a world focused on urgency and production, being with someone in their pain is an act of resistance.

When Personal and Collective Stress Intersect

For those already navigating attachment wounds, relational trauma, or chronic overwhelm, the collapse of societal structures can be deeply dysregulating. When external systems break down, our internal systems can become overwhelmed, triggering old fears and amplifying scarcity. But healing our internal systems is not just about personal growth; it’s part of a larger collective process. As we heal individually, we contribute to the resilience of our communities, creating a stronger foundation for collective change.

Rewilding Ourselves: Remembering Relational Ways of Being

Before colonial and industrial forces separated us from the land and each other, survival was rooted in deep interdependence. Rewilding isn’t just about reconnecting with nature; it’s about restoring our relationships with one another, the land, and our bodies in ways that honor our shared survival. It’s a return to practices of mutual care and community, often overlooked but essential to healing.

The unraveling we are witnessing now is not just collapse—it’s an opportunity for renewal, a chance to reconnect with ancient ways that have always been ours, even as we continue to fight for justice and healing.

Somatic Practices for Grounding in Changing Times

Root Deeply into the Earth

Spend time with the land, not as a resource but as a relationship. Let your feet touch the soil. Notice how trees stand firm yet flexible, adapting without breaking.

Learn from the knowledge keepers of the land. Their wisdom holds the nervous system regulation practices we need. These practices are not just ancestral knowledge; they have been carried through generations as acts of resistance and survival in the face of oppression.

Strengthen the Weaving of the Web

Like mycelium, build quiet but strong networks of care. Mutual aid, food sovereignty, and shared housing are not new concepts—they are ancestral survival strategies. For marginalized communities, these strategies have been vital for survival in a world that often denies them basic human rights.

Seek relationships where reciprocity is natural, where care is not a transaction but a practice of belonging. In such relationships, community care becomes a tool of resistance and survival, not just a means of healing.

Move with the Cycles, Not Against Them

The body, like the seasons, needs time for action and time for rest. Honor slowness. Let grief move through like autumn winds, making space for what comes next.

Use rhythm—drumming, breathwork, movement—to regulate your nervous system the way the ocean regulates the shore. These practices, often rooted in cultural traditions, are a powerful tool for grounding and healing in uncertain times.

Honoring the Next Growth Cycle

This unraveling is a rupture, but it is also a remembering. Nature teaches us that destruction is never the end—only a transition. The question is not just how we endure but how we regenerate: How we root into ways of being that honor both the individual nervous system and the collective whole.

Even in the hardest of times, new growth is always waiting to emerge. The question is not just how we endure, but how we reconnect to what’s already within us—the resilience that has always been there, quietly holding us steady. The journey of healing is not easy, especially for those facing systemic barriers like racism, poverty, and violence. Yet, even amidst these challenges, community and connection can offer the support we need to rebuild and heal together.

Even amid unrest and uncertainty, the strength of community and connection will support us. Together, we can weather the storm and rediscover resilience—not as something we need to develop, but as something that has always been alive within us, waiting to guide us through. Through shared care, mutual support, and the simple act of being present for one another, we can foster healing, hope, and a renewed sense of possibility, no matter how turbulent the world may seem.