What We Can Do — and What We Can’t
Supporting Our Community with Honesty, Capacity, and Compassion
By Karen Lawson, MD
In moments like this — when our communities are under strain, when there is fear, anger, grief, and a sense that something fundamental is being violated — many of us feel a powerful urge to do something.
To show up.
To stand with others.
To be counted.
And yet, at the same time, many of us are also discovering limits we didn’t choose.
Here in Minnesota, the ongoing presence of federal force, the disruption of community safety, and the deep distress this has caused — especially for immigrant families and communities of color — has touched all of us in different ways. Even if we haven’t been directly targeted, our bodies are still responding. Nervous systems don’t require proximity to be impacted. Witness alone can be enough.
In moments like this, the question is often framed as:
“What should I be doing?”
But I want to gently suggest a different question:
“What is actually possible for me — honestly — right now?”
When the Desire to Help Collides with Reality
A week ago Friday, I woke up knowing there would be a protest. I wanted to be there. I believed in being there. I believed it mattered.
And yet, my body had other plans.
I found myself crying for most of the day — not quietly, not neatly, but deeply and uncontrollably. I couldn’t get dressed. I couldn’t leave the house. Every attempt to push myself forward only made things worse. Alongside the grief was a growing sense of guilt: If I’m not out there, am I failing my community?
This is a familiar experience for many of us. The moment when our values and our capacity fall out of alignment — and we turn that misalignment into self-judgment.
Late in the day, something shifted. Not because I forced it, but because I stopped fighting what was true. Around 5:30 pm, I put on clothes and went — not to the protest — but to a healing and breathwork gathering at a local church.
I wasn’t carrying a sign.
I wasn’t chanting.
I wasn’t visible in the way I thought I should be.
But I was present. I was breathing. I was grieving in community. And for the first time that day, I let go of the guilt that said only one kind of participation counts.
This Friday, I assessed my energy, and felt I could contribute by marching with my neighbors this time. While it felt good to be marching and chanting, I was very aware of all of the individuals supporting the efforts in many ways–holding space, praying with intentions, holding a sign from the warmth of the skyways. We are all in this together, and everyone can make a difference in their own way.
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Capacity Is Not a Moral Measure
One of the most important things I’ve learned — personally and professionally — is that capacity is not a measure of commitment or care.
Our nervous systems are constantly assessing safety, threat, and load. When the world feels unstable or frightening, the body may move toward action — or it may move toward stillness, tears, rest, or withdrawal. Both are intelligent responses.
Some days, our gifts show up as:
marching
organizing
speaking
holding the line publicly
Other days, our gifts show up as:
listening
holding space
tending grief
offering healing
staying regulated so we don’t add more harm
None of these cancel the others out.
What becomes harmful is when we insist that our bodies perform a role they are not resourced to play in that moment — and then punish ourselves when they can’t.
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Honest Assessment Is a Form of Care
Self-compassion is often misunderstood as letting ourselves off the hook. But what I see again and again is that honest assessment actually leads to more sustainable contribution — not less.
When we take a moment to ask:
What do I have the capacity for today?
What gifts are available to me right now?
What would support my nervous system instead of overwhelming it?
—we are more likely to act in ways that are grounded, connected, and genuinely supportive.
This doesn’t mean disengaging from what matters. It means staying in relationship with it over time.
Movements are not sustained by one kind of body or one kind of action. They are sustained by people who know when to step forward — and when to tend the ground so that stepping forward remains possible later.
Letting Go of the “Right Way” to Show Up
There is a quiet grief many of us are carrying: the grief of wanting to do more than we can. The grief of watching events unfold while feeling constrained by our bodies, our responsibilities, or our emotional limits.
If you’re holding that grief, I want to say this clearly:
Your care is not erased by your limits.
Showing up to a healing circle.
Holding prayer or breath.
Offering support behind the scenes.
Caring for yourself so you don’t collapse.
These are not lesser contributions. They are different expressions of the same commitment to community.
A Gentle Invitation
If you find yourself torn between what you believe in and what your body can tolerate, you’re not alone — and you’re not doing anything wrong.
I invite you to consider this:
What would it be like to trust that your body’s signals are information, not obstacles?
What might become possible if guilt loosened its grip just enough for honesty to lead?
There is no single way to stand for what matters. There is only the ongoing practice of listening — to your values, your body, and the moment you’re in.
That listening, too, is an act of care.
If this way of approaching care — for yourself and your community — feels supportive, you’re welcome here. If you want individual support services, you can schedule a free consultation with Dr. Lawson here. or explore further at her website.
At The Body Luminary, and within The Tending Method, we practice honest capacity, self-compassion, and presence together, knowing that sustainable care begins in the body.