Hey NubianNewYorkers..
Alright y’all.
Come sit by me. We need to talk for real.
If you’re a Gay, Black or Latin person watching the news right now and your chest feels tight? That’s not you being dramatic. That’s your nervous system clocking the room like, “Oh, we fighting dragons again?”
When leadership feels reckless or straight-up abusive, your brain is doing what it’s built to do: detect threat. That’s survival. We come from people who survived colonizers, dictators, racism, homophobia, and tias asking when we’re marrying a “nice girl.” We know danger when we see it. Don’t let anybody gaslight you out of that instinct.
But listen — we are not about to lose our minds.
First, being “informed” does not mean absorbing chaos 24/7. You do not need every clip, every panel of people yelling, every conspiracy video your cousin sends at 2am. Being informed means you know enough to act. Know what affects your rights, your money, your vote. Pick one or two solid sources, skim, read a summary, and close the tab. If it doesn’t help you vote, plan, protect, or prepare, it’s just stress candy.
Second, put limits on the news like it’s that toxic ex you finally blocked. No doomscrolling first thing in the morning. None before bed. Give yourself a soft landing at night. And honestly? Read more than you watch. Video burns into your brain. If your jaw tightens and your heart starts racing, that’s your cue. Close. The. Tab. You don’t get a trophy for finishing the article.
Third, move from doom to agency. The worst part of chaotic leadership isn’t just the mess — it’s the feeling of powerlessness. Reading more horror won’t fix that. Action will. Focus on what you can control: how you vote, where you spend money, how you build community, how you prepare, how you support the vulnerable in your circle. You cannot control a politician’s personality or every outrageous headline. You can control your response. We didn’t survive this long by spectating. We survived by organizing, loving loudly, and staying ten toes down.
If you’ve got kids, younger siblings, or chosen family looking at you for cues, don’t lie to them — but don’t unload the apocalypse either. Keep it simple. Calm voice. “This is what’s happening. This is what we’re doing. This is what we stand for.” Preparedness turns vague fear into something solid. Get documents in order. Build neighbor connections. Let them see you turn off the TV and choose dinner, laughter, and community instead. They absorb how we react more than what we say.
Also, stop calling everything “stress.” Be specific. Are you scared? Angry? Grieving? Feeling betrayed? Your brain can work with specifics. When it spikes, ground yourself. Feet on the floor. Slow breath. Look around and name what’s safe and ordinary. Remind yourself: “In this moment, I am safe.” And please stop arguing with folks committed to misunderstanding you. That’s not activism. That’s self-harm in a group chat. You are allowed to say, “I’m not discussing politics right now.”
And if it’s heavy heavy — nightmares, panic, numbness, constant dread — that’s not weakness. That’s overload. Therapy is not a luxury; it’s maintenance. We deserve care that understands minority stress without us having to give a whole dissertation on our existence.
Hear me clearly, my friends: you are not crazy for feeling shaken. You are not weak for feeling afraid. You are not dramatic for protecting your peace.
We come from resilience. From rhythm. From ancestors who built futures under pressure. We can stay informed, stay prepared, and still protect our joy.
And don’t forget — even in unstable times, we live intentionally.
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