there's no shame in choosing survival

In my book, Tell Me My Story—Challenging the Narrative of Service Before Self, I share a story about what it was like to be inside the civil service during the first time 47 was president. Even then, it was a time of deep fracture and reckoning across the federal government. All around me, colleagues were making difficult and bold choices—many resigning in protest as we grappled with the moral implications of enforcing policies like the Muslim ban, separating migrant children from their families, and a sharp decrease in the refugee admissions ceiling. Stories of oppression and injustice that we’d heard from asylum seekers and refugees over the years were quickly becoming reality in America. I remember people I had known and respected for most of my career walking away, unwilling to be complicit in what was unfolding.

But I stayed.

I’d like to say it was purely out of a sense of duty, but the truth is that I wrestled with my decision, searching for ways to frame it as a quiet act of resistance. Was remaining inside the system a way to fight from within? Could my presence be a stabilizing force for my colleagues and for those we served, even as the ground shifted beneath us? I told myself it was and it could—and for a time, I believed the stories I told myself.

But then, on the eve of my 42nd birthday, I found myself thinking back to an interview I had conducted years earlier with a refugee applicant from Ethiopia. His story was one of unimaginable courage: risking everything to resist oppression and fight for freedom and democracy. I thought, too, of so many others I’d interviewed over the years who had dared to defy unjust regimes at great personal risk. And I asked myself the question that had been quietly haunting me:

If I were ever in their position, would I have the courage to do the same?

The fact that it wasn’t a given—that I couldn’t say with certainty that I would—made me feel guilty.

And then the little voice inside me whispered something that had been sitting just below the surface, something I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge:

"Staying in your position isn’t an act of courage. It’s an act of fear, and you should be ashamed."

It gutted me and weighed heavy on my heart—it felt like betrayal. A betrayal of myself, my values, and those who trusted me. I felt the sting of shame often experienced by those holding the line that comes with moral injury and institutional betrayal. But, like so many others working in service of other humans, I buried it. I pushed forward, because the work demanded it. Because in that moment, leaving wasn’t a viable option.

And yet, navigating this internal storm was no small task. It took a profound toll on my nervous systems, my relationships, and my sense of self. It left me feeling fragmented, flooded with guilt, anger, and disconnection. It took a long time for me to recognize that what I was experiencing were neurobiological responses—my body’s reacting to a violation of my moral compass. I wasn’t a bad person for feeling this way or making the choice to stay in my position instead of leaving. I was a human being, trying to find my footing in an unjust landscape forged in layers of complexity.

I found a path forward by cultivating a deep sense of self-awareness: noticing how these fractures were showing up in my thoughts, in my body, in my choices. I had to learn to practice self-compassion—to treat myself with the same gentleness I so easily extended to my friends, family members and coworkers, as I processed my emotions and tried to figure out how to survive these painful experiences.

It was only four years ago that I was working inside the system, grappling with the same heartbreak, fear, and moral dilemmas many people I know are currently facing. And though I had the privilege and means to eventually step away, I know not everyone has that same privilege. It’s one of the reason I’ve dedicated my life to serving this community—to serving those who are still inside, fighting to hold onto their humanity.

If you’re one of the many brave people holding the line, I want you to know I see you. You’re not alone. And you were never meant to navigate these challenges alone.

If my story feels familiar, I invite you to join me Wednesday, March 26 to dive deeper into these topics, in a new workshop I’ve created called Hold the Line: Navigating Moral Injury, Institutional Betrayal + Staying True to Your Values. This will be a brave space to explore what it means to carry these burdens, how they shape us, and how we can practice self- and collective care to make service and resistance sustainable over the long-term.

This isn’t about blame or quick fixes. It’s about tending to our wounds, reconnecting to our values, and finding ways to stay human, even when the systems we work within refuse to acknowledge our humanity.

Remember you’re not alone in this and we will get through it by holding the line together.

march 26 | 7pm EST | hold the line: navigating moral injury, institutional betrayal + staying true to your values

Join me on March 26 for hold the line—an interactive virtual workshop designed to help you understand, process, and navigate moral injury and institutional betrayal. Together, we’ll explore the emotional and psychological impact of value-based conflicts, how they affect the nervous system, and how to hold onto your humanity—even in the most challenging moments. Learn more and register below.

toolkit for sustainable service

If you’re feeling exhausted, disillusioned, or overwhelmed by the weight of serving others, you’re not alone. The challenges faced by those working in service—vicarious trauma, compassion fatigue, burnout, moral injury, and institutional betrayal—aren’t just individual burdens; they’re collective struggles that require collective solutions. Service should not come at the cost of your well-being.

The Rooted + Resilient Toolkit is a free resource designed for those working in service of others—educators, healthcare professionals, nonprofit leaders, civil servants, social justice advocates, attorneys, and mission-driven leaders and professionals navigating this moment with moral courage and collective care.

20 essays in 20 days—a new project inspired by On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder.

I recently launched a new community reflection and writing group in response to the lessons in the book, On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder. As part of that I’m also writing a new essay each day related to the themes from that day’s lessons. If you haven’t gotten a copy of this book yet, I can’t recommend it enough. It is as close to a playbook for navigating tyranny and authoritarianism as we have. Check out the essays using the link below.