nevertheless, we persist

This past week, my heart has been breaking as 47, his puppet master, and their enablers have targeted the civil service and humanitarian sector—vilifying, dehumanizing, and treating hardworking public servants as enemies of the state.

I spent 18 years as a civil servant, working to support some of the most vulnerable people in the world. Though I experienced difficult moments throughout my nearly two decades of service, nothing compares to the pain of witnessing the mass firings of civil servants, the shutdown of USAID, and the reckless dismantling of agencies and institutions meant to serve the public. The very people who have dedicated their lives to upholding the Constitution are now being cast as obstacles to be eradicated—framed as part of a so-called "deep state" conspiracy rather than recognized as the backbone of a functioning democracy.

As a former public servant, I understand what it means to dedicate one’s life to serving humanity. To navigate layers of bureaucracy in pursuit of the mission. To push through the pain of moral injury when leadership’s values don’t align with your own. To be bound by a code of ethics that never seems to apply at the highest levels of power. To carry the weight of public scrutiny as you strive to serve with integrity and protect the country—all while enduring burnout and trauma because you know that the work you do directly impacts the lives of others.

I know what it feels like to pour your heart and soul into service, only to watch everything you’ve built or fought for be threatened, dismissed, or undone by those who put power over people and self-interest over service. And I know from personal experience that, despite it all, you persist—because deep within, you understand that this work, rooted in the ideals of freedom, equity, and justice, is far bigger than any one of us.

In moments like this, when everything is being uprooted and destroyed, it’s easy to feel despondent, unmoored, and unsure of how to move forward. But nature reminds us that beneath the surface, roots serve as the unseen foundation that nourishes and sustains life. Strong, resilient, and enduring, they reach deep into the soil, connecting individual trees and plants into a vast underground network that shares resources, strengthens one another, and ensures survival. Even when a tree is cut down, the roots keep working, ready to rebuild and rise when the time is right.

But roots don’t just sustain individual trees—they create a communal network of resilience. In forests, mycelium networks allow trees to communicate, share nutrients, and warn each other of danger. When one tree is struggling, others send resources to keep it alive. This is how ecosystems survive—through collective care and support, not isolation.

As hopeless as things feel, remember that we have the capacity to meet this moment. Our strength and power is found in acts of collective care—holding each other up, refusing to let despair consume us, and reminding those in pain that they are seen, valued, and worthy. Bearing witness is an act of resistance. Solidarity is a form of care. Just as trees in a forest sustain one another through underground networks, those of us who are not currently in the government’s crosshairs can provide nourishment in ways both big and small—by checking in, practicing empathy, offering space to grieve, amplifying voices, sharing meals, and ensuring that no one walks through this storm alone.

And for those who have dedicated their lives to public service, I know this moment is a deep and painful rupture. If you’re scared, angry, or grieving right now, know this: you are not alone, and you were never meant to carry this weight alone. You are so much more than any institution, title, or job—your work matters because you matter. The impact of your service does not disappear just because narratives rooted in greed and dehumanization try to erase it. The legacies you shaped, the communities you strengthened, the lives you touched—these are capital T truths that will endure. Like roots beneath the surface, your contributions remain—steady and strong—anchoring us all and preparing us for what comes next.

a compassionate reframe

A career spent in service of others cannot be erased by those who seek to dismantle our collective legacies for their own gain. The roots of public service are not so easily destroyed; they live in the relationships forged, the lessons passed down, and the quiet, unseen ways you have left the world better than you found it. Even when the visible structures are torn away, the roots remain—nourishing, sustaining, and waiting for the right conditions to rise again.

reflection prompts

As we navigate this week’s collective grief—whether it’s tied to work, community, stability, or a deeper sense of uncertainty—I invite you to reflect on the following:

1. What are the unseen ways your work has taken root and continues to have an impact, even when it feels like everything is being uprooted?
2. How can you lean into your "root system"—your community, relationships, and inner strength—to help sustain yourself and others through this time of uncertainty?
3. How can you bear witness and show up for those who are struggling right now? What small acts of connection, care, and solidarity might help strengthen the collective root system that will carry us forward?

one final thought

In times of upheaval, it can feel like everything is being torn away. In these moments nature reminds us that beneath the surface, the roots remain. The work you’ve done, the values you’ve carried, and the connections you’ve built are still here. Let them ground you. Let them remind you that even in loss, something new is always waiting to take root and grow. And if you are in a place of strength right now, consider extending your roots to others. Hold space. Bear witness. Offer nourishment in whatever way you can. Because just like in nature, our survival isn’t about standing alone—it’s about standing together.

May this week bring you moments of connection, reminders of your impact, and the grace to trust that the roots of your work will continue to nourish the world in ways seen and unseen.

In solidarity + gratitude,

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