For anyone feeling disoriented by the stories our culture tells in a crisis – and looking for grounding that feels real.
Humans are hard-wired for connection. We evolved as pack animals who relied on safety in numbers, but we're also compulsive meaning-makers. When a crisis hits and the world stops making sense, the stories we tell ourselves determine whether we pull together or turn on each other.
Throughout human history, sharing stories around a fire helped our ancestors create a common identity, honour those who came before them, and navigate an unpredictable environment. Our ability to imagine together allowed us to build shared symbols, rules, and communities.
Yet that evolutionary drive carries an edge. Shared stories establish an internal boundary: an agreement about who belongs within the circle and who sits outside it. In the ancient world, being cast out of the group often meant physical death. While modern social exclusion rarely carries that immediate sentence, the terror of rejection remains hard-wired into our nervous systems. We feel an instinctive urge to conform to the dominant narrative, even when that story begins to distort reality.
Today, we see that tribal dynamic played out across our digital lives. We yell into curated online bubbles and pin our colours to the mast, whether that's a rainbow flag, a Union Jack, a Saltire, or an anarchy symbol. We look for safety in group identity. While I care passionately about social justice and do my best to build bridges, I know how tempting it is to retreat into an ideological camp, deciding that everyone across the divide has broken the rules of our tribe.
The myth of heroic stoicism
What troubles me in times of widespread crisis is how easily cultural myths are co-opted to serve those in power.
We saw a vivid example of this in the UK in the spring of 2020. As hospitals buckled and frontline carers faced dangerous shortages of basic protective equipment, street parties and conga lines broke out across England to celebrate the seventy-fifth anniversary of VE Day.
The celebrations didn't feel like an honest reflection on the devastation of war or the ongoing commitment required to stand up against fascism. Instead, they felt like an expression of national anxiety channelled into nostalgic ritual: an insistence on celebrating a familiar British myth built on empire, stiff upper lips, and standing up to the bad guys.
Breaking out the bunting and performing forced cheerfulness while thousands died alone revealed how national stories can paper over systemic failure. When a culture demands heroic stoicism from its people, it often uses patriotism as a distraction, shifting attention away from under-resourced services, vulnerable workers, and government accountability.
What I take from all of this is that it is time to start creating new narratives.
What our collective psyche needs
Creating healthier stories starts with looking at what our collective psyche actually needs to feel secure.
When we look beneath political slogans, human requirements are remarkably consistent. Following Maslow's hierarchy of needs – the psychological framework showing that material survival must be met before we can focus on higher growth – we all require the foundations of food, shelter, and physical safety. When resources feel scarce or inequitably hoarded, our survival instincts flare. It becomes easy for leaders to convince an anxious public that the presence of an outsider threatens their survival, laying the groundwork for scapegoating and division.
Yet once baseline survival is met, our primary need is social: genuine belonging. Belonging that requires us to suppress our grief, ignore injustice, or dehumanise an out-group is fragile. A culture that elevates stoic denial over basic care leaves people emotionally isolated, even while they wave the same flag.
Many of the powerful figures who promote myths of national toughness seem well-resourced materially, yet starved of real connection. When we let them dictate the cultural story, we end up internalising an unhelpful model of survival that mistakes emotional detachment for strength. If we want to build lasting resilience, we need narratives that acknowledge fear, value human vulnerability, and hold power to account. Preaching stoic denial only isolates us further.
Reclaiming intentional ritual
This is where the daily rituals we choose become a vital form of grounding.
Rituals both reflect and reinforce the stories we live by. A ritual can be as simple as your first coffee in the morning, lighting a candle to mark a loss, taking a walk at lunchtime, or gathering with friends to let off steam. These practices send a message to our brains and bodies: in a chaotic world, there are rhythms we can rely on, and that predictability helps the nervous system settle.
Intention gives a ritual its power. The physical act matters less than the meaning we bring to it. There's a significant difference between a performative public ritual designed to enforce social conformity, and a conscious personal practice that offers comfort and containment. Taking five slow breaths before opening your inbox or cooking a meal with care can be a clear declaration that your wellbeing matters.
We also need shared rituals that allow us to express what's actually happening in our bodies. Coming together to sing, dance, grieve, or celebrate is an essential human practice. When public ceremonies feel hollow, coercive, or disconnected from the reality of people's suffering, we can cultivate small, intentional spaces that keep us anchored in truth.
We can create gatherings that welcome tears, laughter, and honest conversation without demanding that anyone put on a brave face. Reclaiming our own rituals allows us to decide which values we feed, offering a steady foundation to rest and recover when the world feels overwhelming.
Working together
If you're feeling disconnected from yourself, navigating the strain of a turbulent world, or looking to build intentional rituals that support your wellbeing, somatic coaching can help you find your ground.
Explore 1:1 support on my Coaching page, learn how breathwork helps steady the nervous system on my Breathwork page, or book a free discovery call to discuss where we might start.