I don’t even know how to write this politely anymore. So I won’t spend any energy trying to be polite. I’ll write this with the WTF energy that is coursing through my body right now, only I’ll spare you from actually writing the F word as many times as I’ve been saying it lately.

I am so done with:

• the smug press conferences.
• the “official statements” that insult our intelligence.
• the theatrical outrage from people who don’t actually care about human beings.
• the way money and power can rewrite reality in real time.

And I’m especially done with the new American ritual that goes like this:

• a person dies.
• a narrative is deployed.
• a character assassination follows.
• a portion of the public shrugs.
• a portion of the public justifies.
• a portion engages in whataboutism.

Another protest.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

We are living inside a machine that devalues humans, and then dares us to call it “politics.” It's time for freaking accountability.

When a Citizen Dies and the System Rushes to Control the Story

This week, Alex Jeffrey Pretti, a 37-year-old ICU nurse and VA employee, died after an encounter with federal law enforcement officers in Minneapolis. Before his body was even cold, the labels arrived.

“Domestic terrorist.”

“Would-be assassin.”

“Violently resisted.”

The familiar playbook we heard just a few weeks ago.

And as if on cue, people began repeating it. Not because it’s true, but because people repeat whatever makes them feel safe. Whatever lets them believe the system is still “good.” Whatever makes them still believe that the man they voted for, and his administration, is doing good things for our country. Whatever makes it easier to swallow what can’t be humanely justified.

But there’s video. Verified video. And what it appears to show is not a “terrorist.” It appears to show a human being holding a cell phone as officers spray him and wrestle him to the ground. Gunshots follow. And then they walk away from a lifeless body. A life. A family’s entire world destroyed in minutes.

This is not a partisan issue. It’s a human issue.

The Algorithm Loves Power and Punishes People

And here’s the part that makes me feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. If I post about it, with outrage, grief, and a demand for truth, the post is likely to be throttled. Suppressed. Buried. Labeled “sensitive,” “inflammatory,” or “political.” 

Perhaps I’ll even be put in social media jail for a while. Because social media platforms don’t prioritize truth. They prioritize stability. They prioritize what keeps users scrolling and clicking, and what keeps advertisers comfortable. They prioritize what keeps them out of the headlines. They prioritize the voices of institutions, officials, and power, while the rest of us are told to calm down.

So the White House can post whatever the hell it wants, including lies and propaganda, and it gets amplified. But a citizen posts verified video and calls for accountability? That’s too much heat. Too volatile. Too risky. So it doesn’t get circulated because of some algorithm.

This is propaganda-friendly by design. Not because everyone in Silicon Valley wakes up and decides to be evil, but because the system is built to protect itself. And the system protects power and the flow of money.

Devaluing Humans Is the Point

If you’ve been feeling sick to your stomach, it’s because you’re watching something spiritual happening underneath something political. We are deep in the midst of a moral collapse. We are experiencing the slow normalization of cruelty. We are experiencing a deliberate choice to devalue humans, divide communities, and silence voices, so that people are too busy fighting each other to challenge what’s being done in their name.And then, in case we start paying too much attention, we’re distracted by something shiny.A scandal.

A headline.

A new outrage.

But hey, what about those Epstein files?

It’s all part of the same machinery.Look here, not there.

Hate them, not us.

Trust us, not your eyes. 

And forget about those files. There’s nothing in them worth seeing. Look over here instead…

I’m Done Pretending This Is Normal

I’m done with money and power being treated like moral authority.I’m done with people being labeled “dangerous” as a justification for their death, before evidence is reviewed and investigations are done.

I’m done with the phrase “if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

Because detention is traumatic.

Interrogation is traumatic.

A child being pulled from home and put on a plane by masked men is traumatic.

Being treated like a target is traumatic. 

Being erased and smeared after you die is traumatic.

And the people insisting it’s all fine are either:

• not paying attention, or
• insulated by privilege, or
• choosing comfort over conscience.

What Accountability Looks Like (If We Still Believe in It)

Accountability means:

• release all footage (not selectively, not later, not “after review”)
• identify the officers involved
• allow independent investigation
• stop the weaponized propaganda language
• stop calling people terrorists to pre-justify violence
• stop expecting the public to accept official statements that contradict what we can see.

In a democracy. institutions do not get to declare themselves innocent. They earn trust by telling the truth.

If You Feel Done Too …

If you are exhausted, you are not alone.

If you are angry, you are not wrong.

If you are grieving, you are paying attention.

But here is what I know. They don’t only win by taking lives. They win when they take our humanity. They win when we go numb. They win when we stop caring.

So I’m not going numb. I’m doing my best to stay connected to my heart. I am staying connected to my human experience. I’m not going silent. I’m demanding truth.

Human dignity is not partisan. Truth is not optional. And if you’re done too? Don’t look away. Look for ways to make a difference wherever you are, doing what you do.

Here are a few resources i am finding helpful during these challenging times:

These 3 Heart Reset Tools that you can get here for free:

1. Heart breathing to help me calm down, reconnect with my heart, deescalate, and get some sleep.
2. Heart hugs to help me connect more deeply with others.
3. Heart talks to support having difficult conversations about difficult topics and emotions. 

Heather Cox Richardson is a political historian who uses facts and history to put the news in context. You can find her on
Substack, facebook, youtube

by Starr Pilmore

Today, I met a Vietnam veteran. A man who served this country, endured its horrors, and carried its wounds. But it wasn’t war stories he wanted to share.  It was grief.

He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He wasn’t waving a flag. He had a simple bumper sticker that said: “No, I am not MAGA. I have a brain.”

He’s heartbroken. Not over the past, but over the present.

He told me how he’s watching the world unravel into something cruel and unrecognizable. He spoke what he is witnessing. The loss of kindness, the disintegration of decency, and the suffocating division that makes people forget how to be human.

And now, he’s withdrawing. Not because he doesn’t care. It is because he cares too much.He’s exhausted by the hate. He’s drowning in disappointment. He’s grieving a world he fought to protect, and he no longer recognizes.

He is not alone.

We are witnessing a quiet wave of grief and hopelessness rippling through the people who’ve given everything. Veterans, elders, caregivers, truth-teller. So many of us are mourning not just what’s been lost, but what’s being allowed to happen.

This post isn’t here to offer tidy solutions. It’s here to say:
We see you!You’re not alone!Your grief is valid!Your voice still matters.
If we lose the people who’ve fought hardest for compassion, What do we have left?

So today, we honor that Vietnam vet. And every soul like him.We will carry the light when others can’t.We will keep speaking truth, demanding dignity, and holding onto hope.

Because even when the brave are in mourning—they still deserve a world worth living in.

And we’re not done fighting for it.

💔🔥  #SoDoneWithThis  💔🔥

Join us for our Conversations that Matter series at  https://trishajacobson.kit.com/541372cf32

by Trisha Jacobson

I just got back from a much needed break. I was on the Celebrity Ascent, cruising through beautiful Caribbean waters on a journey that was both literal and deeply spiritual. The reason I booked this Abraham-Hicks cruise was simple. I wanted to hear what Abraham had to say about the state of the world; about the chaos, the division, the heaviness so many of us have been carrying, especially in the US.

Like so many others, I’ve been trying to hold the tension of living with heart and integrity in a world that sometimes feels like it has lost its mind. My nervous system has been on high alert for years now, and if I’m being honest, I boarded the ship hoping for some insight or maybe even a roadmap for how to deal with all of it.

But what I heard wasn’t new. Not at all. In fact, what I heard was what I already knew.

That vibration matters. That our emotional scale is everything. That thoughts create things. That we attract what we focus on. That 17 seconds of focused thought can snowball into a powerful momentum. That contrast is necessary. That death is not to be feared.

I didn’t hear instructions for how to fix the world. I didn’t hear a prescription for dealing with broken systems, corrupt leaders, or heartbreaking injustices. I heard this:

Disconnect. Tune in. Choose a better-feeling thought.

And even though I’ve taught this, lived it, and written about it for years, there was something about sitting there on the water, in community with people from all over the world, in resonance with a power much greater than I, that made the message land in my body in a new way. It wasn’t an aha! moment. It was more of a remember who you are moment.

It was visceral.
It was cellular.
It was calming.
It was validation that there is nothing to be afraid of.
Even death, in all its finality, is not the enemy.

What matters is how we feel.
What matters is how we show up energetically.
What matters is the story we’re telling ourselves and whether it’s aligned with who we really are.

So when I think about the things I am so done with ... the fear, the outrage, the heartache ... I can actually feel a softening.

I don’t need to fix the world to feel peace.
I don’t need to change someone’s mind to feel empowered.
I don’t need to constantly fight against something to create change.

What I need is to reconnect. Recenter. Reclaim my vibration. I need to do my best to stay in the top seven levels of the emotional scale of vibration. (See below.) Because from that place, I remember my power. I remember that having an impact doesn’t come from being the loudest voice in the room. It comes from being in alignment with who I am feeling in any given moment and how it supports what I want to create in my life.

So here I am, heading back into my day to day life after an amazing journey with Abraham Hicks. I am not looking for answers anymore. I am simply choosing to embody what I already know ...

 My thoughts are powerful. Thoughts manifest into things. Collective thoughts come together to be an even more powerful source of creation. And truthfully? That’s where the real magic begins.

The crew of the ship was represented by over 1400 members from over 65 countries. There were 3200 passengers on board. Different backgrounds. Different cultures. Different languages. Different beliefs. Different values. And all coexisted peacefully. As Luigi, the Cruise Director, said on our last night, "If only people could get along out in the real world like they get along on this ship, what a beautiful world it would be." 

I can't help but wonder, why not? So I step out of my home, just as I stepped out of my cabin on the ship, with an open mind, an open heart, and ready for the magical adventure that I wish to create. And when something happens that lowers my vibration and affects my thoughts, I set boundaries, remove myself from the situation, and change my thoughts. 

My only priority in life is to focus on raising my own vibration as I go about living my life, no matter what is happening around me. And trust that the Universe will take care of the rest.

To learn more about raising your vibration with one of my favorite tools, check out this chapter I wrote in The Book on Gratitude titled 

The Magic of Intentionally Raising Our Vibration

by Trisha Jacobson

They called me "Torch." Not because I lit up our classroom with charisma. Not because I was setting trends or chasing glory.

Nope.

My grade school classmates called me Torch because I blushed easily. My cheeks would turn red in an instant, and without fail, the kids would yell, “FLAME ON!” like I was some kind of Marvel sidekick waiting to explode. They were laughing at me for something I had no control over.

I hated the attention, the embarrassment, the sting of being called out just for feeling something. But here’s the plot twist I never saw coming: 

I am the damn Torch.

Perhaps on some subconscious level I took “Flame On” literally. They thought they were teasing me—but really, they were connecting me with my power. Because I do light things up. I do burn through the nonsense. And yes, when something’s unjust, out of alignment, or straight-up dehumanizing … I bring the fire!

That nickname actually became my fuel.

They tried to make me feel small for being sensitive—but it turns out, sensitivity is where my power lives.

That heat in my face? That was passion rising.

That discomfort? A sign I was alive, awake, and connected to something deeper. 

So now, decades later, when I speak up, coach, write, lead, or challenge systems that harm … I do it with the fire of that little girl whose cheeks turned red.

I do it for her. I am her. And I say, "Flame on." Always!

Want to share your own reclaiming story? Tell me—what nickname or label once made you shrink… that now fuels your fire? Let’s name it and burn the shame together. 

Join us for our Conversations that Matter series at  https://trishajacobson.kit.com/541372cf32

by Trisha Jacobson

Some days, it feels like the world is stuck on repeat. The same fights, the same exhaustion, the same struggle just to be seen, heard, and valued. Why are we still having to prove that we deserve dignity? That our existence isn’t up for debate? That our rights aren’t bargaining chips for politicians focused on money and power? We’re so done with this cycle. But being "done" isn’t enough. The real question is: How do we build a future where we don’t have to keep fighting for our humanity?

Here are some ideas that may be worth consideration: 

1. Stop Seeking Validation from a Broken System

One of the biggest lies we’ve been told is that we need permission to exist. That if we just explain ourselves well enough, if we find the "right words," if we appeal to logic or empathy, people in power will finally see our worth and our politicians will vote accordingly.

Spoiler alert! They see it. They just don’t want to acknowledge it. Because their power depends on keeping us fighting for scraps instead of building something new. So what if we stop asking? Stop explaining? Stop waiting for validation from systems designed to suppress us? What if, instead, we claim our space and own our power. What if we fully embrace our right to exist as we are ... without apology, without justification, without compromise and without fear.

2. Shift from Resistance to Creation

Fighting against something still gives it energy. What if, instead of spending all our time reacting to injustice, we put that energy into creating a world where justice is the norm?

• Instead of waiting for corrupt leaders to change, we build new leadership models.
• Instead of hoping the media stops spreading division, we create and amplify voices that uplift and empower.
• Instead of trying to reform institutions that were never built for us, we invest in parallel systems that center humanity over power.

Resistance is important. But intentional creation is how we win in the long run.

3. Reclaim the Narrative

The biggest tool of oppression is the story we are told about ourselves. The story being told now is:

• That we are powerless.
• That we are too divided to create change.
• That the way things are is the way they will always be.

All lies. And every single one is designed to keep us right where those seeking more money and power would like us to stay. 

What if we rewrite the story? What if we fully embrace the truth? We are powerful. We are united We are the future?We don’t have to wait for the mainstream to catch up. We can tell our own stories, in our own way, and make them impossible to ignore.

4. Build Communities that Make Oppression Irrelevant

Oppressive systems thrive on isolation. They want us to feel alone, powerless, and disconnected. So what if we do the opposite? We build community.

• Spaces where people feel safe to exist as they are.
• Networks of mutual support that don’t rely on corrupt institutions.
• Movements rooted in action, not just awareness.

United we stand. Divided we fall. And when we stand together, the system loses its grip. 

5. Envision the World We Want (Then Start Living Like It’s Already Here)

Decide what we want. Imagine it in every detail. What does it look like? What does it feel like?

And then, the most radical act? Live our lives as if the future we envision already exists.

• Treat people with the dignity they deserve, even when the world doesn’t.
• Create spaces where justice, compassion, and humanity are non-negotiable.
• Hold onto joy, because joy itself is a form of resistance.
• Practice gratitude for the simple things on a daily basis. And then expand gratitude using the Uncommon Appreciation process described here.

We’re not just here to fight against a broken world. We are here to build a new one! And when we do that, the old systems won’t just crumble. They’ll become irrelevant.

So let's decide what we want ... and start living it and creating it today.

by Starr P.

Some days, it feels like the world is unraveling. Hate is louder than ever, fear fuels division, and people in power cling to outdated systems that no longer serve humanity.

I look around and see the same battles I’ve been fighting my entire life—justice for the marginalized, dignity for those erased, and the right to exist without fear. It’s exhausting. And yet, I keep fighting. 
I fight because I’ve seen what happens when people give up. 

I spent years in the military hiding who I was, terrified that being my true self would mean losing everything. I witnessed women being raped, silenced, and discarded. I saw people take their own lives because they were told—explicitly or implicitly—that who they were wasn’t acceptable, that their existence was a problem. That level of pain and injustice is something you don’t just forget. It carves into your soul, and once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it. 

So I fight. Not because it’s easy. Not because I always feel hopeful. But because the alternative—silence, apathy, complicity—is unacceptable. I fight because I know what it feels like to be othered. To be cast aside, to be treated as less than human, to be told that my love, my existence, my identity is wrong. And I fight because I never want another person to feel that way. 

Every single person deserves to be seen, heard, and valued. No exceptions. I fight because I believe that change doesn’t just happen—it’s created. It’s built by those of us who refuse to accept the status quo. It’s pushed forward by voices that won’t be silenced, by people who refuse to let hate win. And even when it feels like we’re losing ground, I remind myself of this: Every movement, every fight for justice, has had its moments of darkness before the breakthrough. 

Civil rights, women’s rights, LGBTQ+ rights—none of these battles were won easily. But they were won because people refused to give up. I fight because I believe in the world we are creating. A world where dignity, humanity, justice, respect, and compassion are not just words, but a way of life. A world where people no longer live in fear of being themselves. A world where future generations don’t have to fight these same damn battles over and over again. 

And when the exhaustion creeps in, when the weight of it all feels unbearable, I go back to the simplest truth I know: We are the light in the darkness. And as long as we keep shining, hope is never lost. So I keep going. Because the world I’m fighting for is worth it.

Join us for our Conversations that Matter series at  https://trishajacobson.kit.com/541372cf32

by Trisha J.

Fear often gets a bad rap. We’re told to conquer it, push through it, or pretend it doesn’t exist. Fear can make us fight. It can make us freeze in our tracks. It can make us run and hide. It can even stop us from doing what we know, deep down, is the best thing we can do to support our growth. But what if fear isn’t the enemy? What if, instead of avoiding it, we leaned into it and let it show us the way? 

Amelia Earhart once said, “Use your fear, it can take you to the place where you store your courage.” That’s not just a poetic turn of phrase; it’s a call to action. Fear is often the doorway to something greater—our courage, resilience, and deepest truths. The problem is, most of us spend so much time trying to outrun fear that we never stop to see what fear is trying to teach us.

Fear isn’t just a reaction; it’s a signal. It tells us where we feel vulnerable, where we doubt ourselves, and where we have room to grow. If we listen closely, fear can become a guide instead of an obstacle.Think about a time you felt scared to take a leap—maybe leaving a job, speaking your truth, starting something new. That fear wasn’t just a warning; it was also a sign that you were on the edge of something important. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s what happens when you move forward despite fear.

We don’t magically become brave. Courage is built in the moments when we choose to walk through our fear instead of away from it. Every time we use fear as a tool for growth, we add to our reservoir of courage. We realize that we’ve faced hard things before and survived. We learn that fear doesn’t have to paralyze us—it can actually propel us.

So, how do we actually use our fear?

1. Name It. Get clear on what you’re afraid of. Sometimes, just saying it out loud takes away some of its power. Sometimes sharing it with another person takes away even more of its power. 
2. Question It. Ask yourself: Is this fear protecting me, or is it keeping me stuck? Not all fear is bad, but not all of it is necessary either.
3. Shift Your Perspective. Instead of seeing fear as a stop sign, view it as a flashlight pointing to where you need to grow.
4. Take One Step. Courage isn’t about massive leaps. It’s built one small, deliberate action at a time. Choose one thing you can do today that moves you toward what scares you.
5. Look Back. Remind yourself of past moments when you felt fear but kept going anyway. Let those victories remind you that you are stronger than your doubts.

Fear, when harnessed, can be used as fuel. It sharpens us, forces us to grow, and shows us what we care about most. When we use fear as fuel, instead of running from it, we take back our power. We reclaim the parts of ourselves that have been buried under hesitation and self-doubt.This isn’t about being fearless—it’s about being brave enough. Brave enough to stand in our truth. Brave enough to use our voices, even when remaining silent seems easier. Brave enough to show up fully and authentically, even when our hands shake, our voices tremble and hiding in plain sight seems like the easier path.So the next time fear rises up, don’t push it away. Follow it. Let it take you to the place where you store your courage. And then—be brave enough to use it.

Join us for our Conversations that Matter series at  https://trishajacobson.kit.com/541372cf32

by Starr P.

The recent decision to once again ban transgender individuals from serving in the military has left me reeling. It’s not just about policy—it’s about people, real people whose lives are being tossed aside as if their service, their sacrifices, their very existence means nothing. And for me, a gay woman, it’s personal.

I served in the military during a time when being openly gay was a crime. Not just frowned upon—an actual crime. A reason to be dishonorably discharged. A reason to have everything you worked for ripped away. A reason to live in constant fear. The threat of being thrown in jail with murderers and other high level criminals. Or being kicked out because of who I am was not some distant, theoretical danger—it was my daily reality. I lived it. I survived it. But I saw too many who didn’t.In those days, silence was the price of survival. Women, especially, bore the brunt of it. 

Rape was rampant, yet to report it meant risking your own career, your own safety. Many times, the perpetrators were superior officers, the very people we were supposed to trust. I witnessed women swallowed whole by a system that refused to hear them, refused to protect them, refused to acknowledge them at all. I saw their despair turn to resignation, and in too many cases, I saw it turn to suicide.

The weight of those silences still lingers in my heart. The countless unspoken stories, the whispered fears, the brave faces hiding unbearable pain. And now, history is repeating itself in a cruel and unnecessary way. The message being sent is the same: If you don’t fit the mold, if you are different, you do not belong. Your service, your dedication, your willingness to lay down your life for your country—it does not matter.

As the Chicks once sang, “I’m not ready to make nice, I’m not ready to back down.”

That song became an anthem for those of us who refuse to be silenced, who refuse to conform to the expectations of a world that seeks to erase us. I carried that song in my heart through dark times, through moments when I wondered if fighting was even worth it. 

But it is. It always is.

To those who have never had to hide who they are, it might be easy to dismiss this as just another political move. Thats not it! 

To those of us who have lived through it, who have fought to exist in a world that tried to erase us, this is not just policy. It is personal. It is a betrayal. And it is dangerous.We have come too far to allow fear and discrimination to win again. I refuse to stay silent. I refuse to let another generation of service members suffer the same wounds, endure the same injustices. 

To all the individuals who are being told they are not welcome, I see you. I honor you. And I will fight for you, just as I have fought for myself and for those who never got the chance to see the day when they could serve openly. Because no one should have to choose between their identity and their service. No one should have to suffer in silence. And no one should have to fight for a country that refuses to fight for them. No one should be in such desperation they choose to end their life.

And to those who think we should just accept this, I say again—I’m not ready to make nice. I will not back down!

Join us for our Conversations that Matter series at  https://trishajacobson.kit.com/541372cf32

If you're wondering about the song that Starr is referring to in the video above, it is

I'm Not Ready to Make Nice by The Chicks.

Here is the link: https://youtu.be/pojL_35QlSI?si=dwjhkCtVu9_NsnnV