The Other Pandemic: Political Languishing in an Era of Too Much

“You used to care more. Have you given up?”

It starts with the scrolling. The headlines blur together—elections, court rulings, wars, climate disasters. Another round of “unprecedented” events, another crisis demanding outrage, action, urgency. Your chest tightens. You should be doing something. You used to. But lately, every call to act, donate, protest, vote, organize feels like a wave crashing over your head. You love the world too much to look away, but you’re too tired to keep looking.

Welcome to political languishing—the state of being perpetually aware yet emotionally paralyzed, engaged yet exhausted. It’s when you still care deeply but can’t summon the energy to channel it into movement. It’s not quite burnout (though that looms), and it’s not apathy (because you do care). It’s something in between—a dulling of political will, a foggy frustration, a guilt-laced inertia that makes even signing a petition feel like climbing Everest.

The Activist’s Fatigue

Languishing was the defining emotion of the early pandemic—when life became a monotonous limbo of waiting, depleted but not depressed. Political languishing, though, is different. It’s not boredom; it’s overload. It’s caring about everything, all at once, with no clear path to making a dent.

Maybe you were on the streets in 2020. Maybe you’ve called your senators more times than your own parents. Maybe you were the one educating your friends, posting resources, making the group chat uncomfortable. Maybe you’ve built your career around fixing broken systems. And now?

Now you see the same fights cycling back—sometimes worse than before. Rights eroded. Leaders failing. Billionaires winning. History repeating itself. You feel the demand for urgency, but you also feel the weight of reality: this is a long game, and you are very, very tired!

The Shame Spiral of Inaction

Political languishing is insidious because it doesn’t just drain your energy—it makes you feel guilty for not doing enough. Every issue feels existential, every action insufficient. There’s a voice in your head whispering: “If you’re not fighting, aren’t you complicit?”

“Other people have it worse—how dare you check out?” But the truth is You we haven’t given up. We’re just running on empty. The cycle of outrage, fear, and urgency has left no space for recovery. And here’s the other hard truth: The systems designed to wear you down? They’re working. Exhaustion is a political tool. The forces you oppose—whether corporate greed, authoritarianism, or systemic injustice—want you to be too tired to fight back.

What If Rest Is Resistance?

What if taking a step back isn’t giving up but strategizing? What if refusing to be perpetually consumed by crisis is an act of defiance? What if your burnout isn’t a personal failure but a sign that activism in an age of endless crises needs a better blueprint?

Political languishing isn’t something you power through; it’s something you navigate. This may sound radical, but it means:

• Pacing yourself. Movements are marathons, not sprints. The people who keep fighting? They rest. They take shifts. They build sustainable activism, not just reactionary outrage.

• Recalibrating your role. Maybe you’re not the protest-in-the-streets person right now. Maybe your impact looks different—mentoring, donating, educating, voting, or just staying informed so you can engage when you’re ready.

• Allowing joy. Yes, even in dark times. Despair is paralyzing, but joy is fuel. Watch the silly show. Take the walk. Cook the meal. Not as escapism, but as an act of reclamation. Your ability to feel joy is not a betrayal of the cause—it’s proof you’re still alive in it.

• Choosing your battles. You don’t have to fight everything at once. Pick your lane. Trust that others are picking theirs. The weight of the world isn’t meant to rest on any one person’s shoulders.

You’re Not Alone!

If you’re languishing politically, you’re not alone. In fact, you’re probably surrounded by people feeling the same way but afraid to admit it. The good news? Languishing isn’t the end—it’s a pause, a recalibration. And history shows that even the most exhausted, disillusioned people can find their way back to action.

The world will still be here when you’re ready. And when you are, it won’t just be to react—it’ll be to rebuild.