When death feels close, even though you haven’t lost anyone…
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Sometimes it feels like death is everywhere. Even if you haven’t lost anyone. Even if everyone you love is still alive. And yet it’s still close.
Sometimes it feels like death is everywhere.
Even if you haven’t lost anyone.
Even if everyone you love is still alive.
And yet it’s there — close by.
You read the news, and there are more deaths again.
A neighbor tells you his brother never came back.
A friend is crying for someone she loves.
Someone is missing.
Someone is in hospital.
Sometimes a message goes unanswered — and suddenly you’re afraid.
It’s like breathing down your neck.
Quiet, but constant.
As if it’s nearby — not inside your life, but hanging above it.
And you begin to live on tiptoe.
Afraid to call too often.
Afraid to get attached.
Afraid to love.
Because what if — it takes again?
This state has a name.
It is psycho-emotional exhaustion caused by repeated exposure to traumatic information.
In other words, even if you’re not on the front line and you haven’t lost someone close, you can still carry the shadow of war — the losses, the pain of other people. And that shadow is heavy.
So what can you do?
First — acknowledge that something real is happening to you.
You are not “too sensitive.”
You are alive.
And when someone else’s pain touches you every day, your body and your mind do not remain unchanged.
Second — give yourself permission to live, without guilt.
The fact that you haven’t lost anyone does not mean you’re not allowed to grieve, to fear, or to feel tired.
Your pain is real.
Your fear is not imagined.
And your life is valuable — it deserves to be protected.
How do you live with this?
Limit the flow of pain.
The news won’t disappear, but you can decide how much and when. Once a day is enough.
Ground yourself.
Through touch, the smell of coffee, a friend’s voice, working with your hands, a garden, your body.
Here and now. Not in the feed, not in other people’s tragedies — in reality.
Allow yourself joy.
It does not diminish anyone else’s suffering.
It is your form of resistance.
Your ability to smile is not betrayal. It is life.
Talk.
Don’t hold everything inside. People around you are scared too. They are also looking for someone to sit with in silence, or to cry with.
Take care of yourself.
Drink water. Sleep. Eat.
It sounds simple — but it is the foundation of psychological resilience.
Yes, death is somewhere nearby.
But that is not a reason to stop living.
It is a reminder:
Say “I love you” today.
Say thank you.
Hold someone close.
Don’t save warmth for later.
Life goes on — not because death is weak,
but because we are strong in our ability to feel,
and to keep going.
And that, too, is courage:
to live — despite everything.
Even if you haven’t lost anyone.
Even if everyone you love is still alive.
And yet it’s there — close by.
You read the news, and there are more deaths again.
A neighbor tells you his brother never came back.
A friend is crying for someone she loves.
Someone is missing.
Someone is in hospital.
Sometimes a message goes unanswered — and suddenly you’re afraid.
It’s like breathing down your neck.
Quiet, but constant.
As if it’s nearby — not inside your life, but hanging above it.
And you begin to live on tiptoe.
Afraid to call too often.
Afraid to get attached.
Afraid to love.
Because what if — it takes again?
This state has a name.
It is psycho-emotional exhaustion caused by repeated exposure to traumatic information.
In other words, even if you’re not on the front line and you haven’t lost someone close, you can still carry the shadow of war — the losses, the pain of other people. And that shadow is heavy.
So what can you do?
First — acknowledge that something real is happening to you.
You are not “too sensitive.”
You are alive.
And when someone else’s pain touches you every day, your body and your mind do not remain unchanged.
Second — give yourself permission to live, without guilt.
The fact that you haven’t lost anyone does not mean you’re not allowed to grieve, to fear, or to feel tired.
Your pain is real.
Your fear is not imagined.
And your life is valuable — it deserves to be protected.
How do you live with this?
Limit the flow of pain.
The news won’t disappear, but you can decide how much and when. Once a day is enough.
Ground yourself.
Through touch, the smell of coffee, a friend’s voice, working with your hands, a garden, your body.
Here and now. Not in the feed, not in other people’s tragedies — in reality.
Allow yourself joy.
It does not diminish anyone else’s suffering.
It is your form of resistance.
Your ability to smile is not betrayal. It is life.
Talk.
Don’t hold everything inside. People around you are scared too. They are also looking for someone to sit with in silence, or to cry with.
Take care of yourself.
Drink water. Sleep. Eat.
It sounds simple — but it is the foundation of psychological resilience.
Yes, death is somewhere nearby.
But that is not a reason to stop living.
It is a reminder:
Say “I love you” today.
Say thank you.
Hold someone close.
Don’t save warmth for later.
Life goes on — not because death is weak,
but because we are strong in our ability to feel,
and to keep going.
And that, too, is courage:
to live — despite everything.