Open-Heartedness in a Time of Heartbreak

by Elizabeth Venart

Facing my blank computer screen on March 7, 2022, I struggle to find words to adequately express my heartbreak at the devastation in Ukraine. I watch news reports of Russia violently invading, bombing buildings, destroying homes and neighborhoods, and sending millions of Ukrainian citizens fleeing their homeland. I watch footage of thousands escaping on foot and by train, with only a small backpack of possessions remaining from the life they cherished. I see the courage of those who stay, those who fight back, the leader who, despite the world’s estimation that he has only a fraction of the military resources of his attacker, stands up and demands his voice be heard and boundaries honored. I am awed too by the bravery of citizens in Russia who oppose their government’s actions, facing arrest, prison sentences of fifteen years, and worse.

As I watch news coverage from the comfort of my home, in my peaceful neighborhood, in a town free of explosions and terror, I am aware of my privilege. I recognize that we may be sitting on the precipice of a World War in which peace anywhere is potentially under threat. I also recognize that is not my experience in this moment. In this moment, I have the luxury of a relaxed in-breath and out-breath, the presence of my family members and pets, and the ability to reach loved ones over the phone and know they are safe. I can drive and travel unencumbered, and I know where I will rest my head to sleep at day’s end. I am acutely aware of these gifts of home and safety and peace – and sense more deeply the need not to take them for granted.  

Keeping our eyes and hearts open, our compassion intact can be some of the hardest work. Sometimes the cruelty and suffering we witness is so intense we may feel overtaken by anger and thoughts of vengeance. Or we may feel frozen in response to it. We may numb out, avoid the news, and avoid conversations for fear of hearing more news. We may become consumed in something rather mindless, like playing Wordle, Quordle, and Octordle (my favorite three distractions these days). We may tune out, shut down, pretend nothing is happening. It is natural to feel a whole host of emotions in response to suffering. It is also natural to experience these emotions in waves, rising and falling in our consciousness. 

It is painful to stand back and do nothing when our hearts feel the pull to help. If my nextdoor neighbor is struggling or has experienced a loss, I can sit with them. I can make a casserole. I can mow their lawn or clear the snow off their car. I want to help, to act, to do. But what can we do when the ones suffering are a continent away?

On a pragmatic level, there are some things we can do. We can participate in social and political activism – putting pressure on elected officials and corporations to impose sanctions and take actions that might have a positive impact. We can also make donations in support of humanitarian assistance in Ukraine. These actions do matter. (Resource links for sending aid to Ukraine appear later in the newsletter.)

Rather than succumb to a sense of futility about making a difference, we may seek an outlet for that inhibited desire. Maybe we organize a local food drive to help the homeless in our own community or volunteer for the Red Cross. Or maybe we channel that energy into training for a marathon, planning a family reunion, reconnecting with old friends. . . finding something we can do.

These are tumultuous times. Times of change, upheaval, fear, courage, heroism, and transformation. Many of us are only slowly re-emerging from a time of prolonged isolation. Connection is good for our souls. It provides a pathway through times of anguish. Invite opportunities for laughter among friends, meaningful conversation, sharing hugs and meals, reigniting our sense of community after two years of time apart. We can bolster one another.

In 1973, E.B. White responded to a despairing reader with the following letter of hope. While written in the context of that moment in history, the message's timeless and brought me some comfort. I hope his words will resonate with you as well.

As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.

Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out. Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.”

Elizabeth Venart is the Founder and the Director of The Resiliency Center and a Licensed Professional Counselor whose practice focuses on supporting Highly Sensitive Persons and other therapists (through counseling, clinical consultation and training). Her counseling and consulting work integrates EMDR Therapy and IFS to help people heal past trauma and experience transformational change. Her free offerings include  a weekly laughter yoga class, a monthly Rumi and Friends Spiritual Poetry Evening, and a monthly gathering for EMDR Therapists in the Greater Philadelphia area. To learn more, visit her website.