Tuned in, worn out

Every morning, I drive my daughter to school. In the morning, we listen to NPR. In the afternoon, we celebrate with loud music. NPR has become a quiet ritual—me at the wheel, her in the passenger seat, lost in her own thoughts, while the news hums along and I try not to yell at the radio. Just 30 minutes of headlines. It should be a manageable dose. Informative. Grounding. Maybe even responsible.

But this morning, as another story about the impending recession played, I felt something shift. A familiar knot in my chest tightened, and I realized that listening to the news is making me feel more helpless than anything else in my life. And that’s saying something.

Still, I can’t disconnect. I want to know what’s going on. I want to understand why everything feels so fragile right now. But I also can’t ignore what it’s doing to me—and to so many of us. The weight of awareness is real, and it’s heavy.

When drive turns into depletion

I used to think that staying informed, staying present, and staying committed was enough to keep me moving forward. But lately, it just feels like I’m dragging everything uphill—my ideas, my work, my optimism. The constant pulse of bad news doesn’t just weigh me down—it wears me out. I’m tired of reacting. Tired of absorbing every headline, every layoff post, every “brace for impact” warning. I’m still going. But I’d be lying if I said it’s not taking a toll.

The LinkedIn doomscroll

After that morning NPR gut-punch, I opened LinkedIn. I should know better. But like clockwork, I scrolled through a feed full of job loss announcements, government layoffs, venture-backed platitudes, and people earnestly celebrating new roles that might not last six months. It's emotional whiplash dressed up as professional networking.

I want to cheer people on. I want to celebrate wins and mourn losses. But mostly, I just feel like I’m watching the middle fall out of the workforce in real time—especially for the people trying to make a difference or do things differently.

Small businesses like mine are going to get slammed by tariffs and economic shifts we have no control over. Government downsizing sets a tone for private corporations to follow suit. The message is clear: “tighten up,” “cut costs,” “wait it out.”

And the ripple effects are brutal. Unhealthy teams—already stretched thin and burnt out—don’t have the time, space, or budget to work on the things that would actually make them stronger. They can’t hire help. They can’t invest in alignment or strategy or culture. They’re stuck in survival mode.

Meanwhile, we’re ready. We’re sitting here with tools, ideas, and real ways to help. And the people who need it most often can’t afford to take the risk.

The rich keep getting richer, and the rest of us are left wondering what the hell we’re supposed to do.

Angry isn’t even the word

It’s hard to put into words how frustrating it is to try to lead or build or even work when the systems around you seem to be crumbling—or worse, being deliberately dismantled.

The leadership we’re seeing in this country? Embarrassing. Performative. Reckless.

There’s a sense that we’re all being played, and we’re all supposed to keep clapping anyway. Keep hustling. Keep posting. Keep pitching. Keep pretending that hard work alone will protect us from chaos.

Spoiler: it won’t.

Why I keep going

So here I am. Frustrated. Angry. Scared. Still listening to the news. Still doomscrolling. Still showing up for my team. Still building.

Why?

Because even when it feels like nothing will change, I still believe in trying. I believe in the people I work with. I believe in the leaders I talk to who are trying to do right by their teams. I believe in the power of honest conversation and intentional action. I believe in what we’re building with Teamangle.

And maybe believing is foolish. Maybe it’s just the only thing left. But it’s mine. And I’m holding onto it.

Because disconnection won’t help. Cynicism won’t solve anything. But naming what’s broken—and choosing to build anyway—just might.

TL;DR

I’m angry. I’m building a business I believe in, but I’m doing it in a system that feels rigged against the people trying to do the right thing. The news is overwhelming, LinkedIn is a rollercoaster, and leadership—at nearly every level—is failing us. But I still believe in the work. I believe in helping teams get stronger, even if the ones who need it most can’t afford it right now. I might feel helpless, but I’m not giving up. Because naming what’s broken and choosing to build anyway? That’s the only way forward.