We Still Build Hope When Everything Feels Lost
“I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept.”
2025 is a hard year. There’s no getting around it. No matter where you are or what you believe, things don’t seem to be going our way. The news is full of grief, rage, and division. So much hate. So much anger. I’m exhausted by it all.
Sometimes I remind myself: I am always living through history. History is riddled with tragedy. The ebb and flow of authoritarian movements has come before. We don’t know where we are in this arc or how each event will be remembered. But today does not have to define the future. This administration's overreach, the enablers in Congress, and the conservative Supreme Court may shape the present. But not forever. The long term is still ours to shape. We can still build, trust, and hope.
This is not about easy hope. It’s about the kind that survives in the rubble. The kind that looks like care, community, and a refusal to go numb. This is about radical hope.
What Hope Is Not
Hope is not denying the bad. It’s not telling yourself to “stay strong” or whispering “this too shall pass” while everything burns. It’s not keeping your head down and waiting for someone else to fix it. It’s not assuming the pendulum will eventually swing back. It won’t unless we push it.
Hope is not passive optimism. It’s not believing things will work out just because they always have. Having hope means not handing off responsibility, believing someone, somewhere, will fix it all.
Radical hope is not delusion. It doesn’t pretend the world isn’t broken. It looks at the brokenness and says: I will build anyway.
“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”
True hope, radical hope, is not a feeling. It’s a practice. Hope is the decision to show up anyway. For yourself. For others.
To act in hope means you move before any progress is visible. It’s planting seeds you may never see bloom. It’s writing letters, holding vigils, marching, organizing, comforting your neighbor—not because you're optimistic—but because you're committed. You invest in care, in community, in resistance. Not because you know it will work, but because it matters. Because showing up, a belief in something better, is itself an act of defiance. Hope refuses to be paralyzed by uncertainty.
Radical hope is refusing to let despair shut down your capacity to feel, to connect, to imagine, to resist. It is the belief that even in collapse, we can build toward a world we’ve never seen. Not a utopia, but a real future. Liberated, dignified, and just. A world where our lives are honored, where care is centered, where we live fully.
Hope isn’t a slogan or a luxury. It’s an act of defiance, even when it’s quiet. It’s a decision to care. Especially when the world tells you not to.
Photo via Mass 50501 Volunteer
Self and Community Care as Acts of Resistance
Self-care is not indulgence. It’s resistance. A way to fortify yourself for what’s next. Hope is tending to yourself and showing up for others. It’s letting yourself be cared for. Not because things are fine, but because you believe there is good in the world. We’re taught to go it alone. To grind. To stay strong. But what happens when we let others care for us? What shifts when we care for each other?
The more we show up together, the stronger we become. My voice alone is quiet. But when it joins with yours? It’s powerful. We are not alone. We are the majority.
Hope gives our movements energy. It keeps us showing up. We’re not just fighting to survive. We’re fighting to live. Fully, joyfully, collectively. Think about how you felt during the protests. Whether you were in the street or watching from afar. That pride, that energy, that sense of togetherness? Hold on to that feeling; that’s where the hope lives.
Choosing Hope In Despair
You might not feel hopeful. You might not believe anything will get better. But, you’re still here. That matters. The pain, numbness, fury, and despair. I carry those, too. Radical hope makes space for all of it. Hope isn’t the opposite of despair. It’s what we build in the ruins of it.
If you’re reading this, there’s a flicker in you. A spark that hasn’t gone out. When yours joins mine, and ours join with others, it becomes a blaze. Together, we’re stronger.
Radical hope keeps us alive. Not just in body, but in purpose. Even when the world is collapsing, we imagine. We care. We build. We shape the future. Hope is what makes us unstoppable.
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