Because We Don't Know What Others Are Carrying

Reflections on Uncertainty, Nervous System Overload, and the Need for Compassion

If the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that uncertainty wears on the soul. During COVID-19, we watched the world shift beneath our feet. Routines vanished. Schools closed. Support systems dissolved overnight. Families—especially those raising children with disabilities—were left scrambling for answers in a system that suddenly felt out of reach.

Fast forward to today, and many of us are feeling that same nervous system overload. We’re once again facing sweeping changes in education and disability policy—some of which threaten the very services children and families rely on to survive, not just thrive. But the ripple effects go beyond policy. They’re impacting how we show up in our homes, our relationships, our work, and our communities.

A psychotherapist recently shared that our collective nervous systems are still in a state of activation—and that really stuck with me. We never truly came down from COVID. We never got the chance to recalibrate. And now, we’re being asked to weather even more stress, more change, and more instability without a moment to breathe. It’s no wonder so many of us feel exhausted, distracted, or numb. Our bodies are just trying to keep up.

Families Are Systems—And Systems Need Support

In my special education research, I focused on families—how they function as deeply interconnected systems. When one member is affected, the whole system feels it. During the pandemic, I studied how these dynamics shifted under stress. You can read more about that here.

What I found then is even more relevant now: in times of upheaval, strong relationships—between families and professionals, but also between neighbors, coworkers, and friends—become lifelines. Not luxuries. Essentials.

And yet, we often forget the full story behind someone’s stress. Families might be managing far more than we know—worries about deportation, caring for a medically fragile loved one, experiencing discrimination, or just trying to make it through the day with limited resources and energy.

For example, earlier this year, I told a trusted colleague in the deafblind field that I was considering letting my son Dalton opt out of IEP services for the rest of the school year. I felt ashamed even saying it out loud. But she gently reminded me: You don’t need to feel bad about choosing your family’s mental health above all else. That grace gave me permission to let go of guilt—and permission to prioritize what we needed most: rest.

We must meet people where they are. Not where we think they should be.

This Isn’t Just About Education—It’s About Being Human

This nervous system overload isn’t only showing up in schools or in disability services. It’s everywhere. In our workplaces. In relationships. In marriages, friendships, and the unanswered text messages we just can’t find the energy to reply to.

We are tired—not because we’re lazy or unmotivated—but because we’ve been carrying too much for too long.

That’s why kindness matters now more than ever. Everyone you meet is carrying something you can’t see—grief, uncertainty, financial stress, health challenges, or the fear that the future might hold even more hardship. While we can’t fix what others are facing, we can choose to approach them with compassion.

Before assuming someone is being difficult—pause.Before responding defensively—ask if they might be overwhelmed.Before feeling hurt by someone’s silence—breathe, and remind them they matter.Before judging someone’s reaction—consider what might be happening behind the scenes.

We don’t know what others are carrying. But we can choose to carry each other a little more gently.

The Invitation

So here’s my invitation: Let’s be softer with each other.

Let’s create spaces—in our homes, our workplaces, and our communities—where well-being comes first. Where it’s okay to be human. Where people feel safe, supported, and seen.

Let’s check in. Let’s ask real questions. Let’s remind people they are valued—not for what they produce or how they perform—but simply because they are.

Let’s lead with compassion. Because if our nervous systems are struggling to keep up, it’s not a failure—it’s a signal that we’re human.

We don’t need permission from policymakers to be kind.We just have to choose it.