How can we get out of the spiral of worry?

My mobile phone has been beeping constantly over the last few weeks. Pictures, memes, videos, calls for demonstrations, fundraising campaigns and minutes of silence about the war in Ukraine have been bombarding me on all kinds of channels. The repetition rate of the same content was huge. Irritated, I watched the hustle and bustle on social media for a while.

In one fell swoop, corona was no longer an issue. The number of new infections or people who died from Covid, which had kept us busy every day for almost two years, gave way to the number of war deaths in Ukraine.

Yes, this war is terrible. Yes, the latest news gets under your skin. Ukraine is not as far away as Afghanistan, Ethiopia or Nigeria. This war is taking place on European soil. It is not so easy to ignore.

I can only change the world by changing myself. Is that too self-centred?

What does that do to us as parents? What about our children? And what happens when we switch from one crisis mode to the next? How can we step out of the already perennial spiral of worry caused by recent events?

The idea of raising our children on a breeding ground of constant worries and fears makes me feel uneasy.

Become quieter

I am the mother of three children: A grown-up daughter, 21, who moved out a year ago and lives in a shared student flat, a 17-year-old son in his second year of an apprenticeship and a ten-year-old primary school pupil.

And: I'm not generally an anxious person. When my daughter was still a toddler, I used to run up the stairs to my then three-bedroom flat on the third floor without a care in the world and take care of the shopping, while she managed the stairs at her own pace and crawled in the door ten minutes later, beaming.

Perhaps it was also my age: I was only 24 at the time. Ten years later, with our baby girl, I was much more concerned.

Nevertheless, the coronavirus crisis has left its mark. And turned many things upside down. For example, the division of society into vaccinated and unvaccinated. The many harsh words spoken on both sides. No small talk without corona. Mostly in shock mode.

At the beginning, I joined in the discussion, got angry, got loud and as the fronts became more and more entrenched, I became quieter and quieter. It made me tired. I tried to listen, to filter out the nuances. A good exercise.

War live on TikTok

And now the war in Ukraine. New streams of refugees. Another tsunami of emotional turmoil, whether in traditional or social media. This time it makes me tired right from the start.

Who is helping whom? Are we helping for the sake of helping? Is it about containing our own unrest? Distraction, remorse or moral integrity? Compassion or sensational euphoria?

The war can be followed live on the video portal TikTok. It gives me the creeps. And - do I have to feel bad if I don't collect or donate specifically for Ukraine? I've been donating to Médecins sans Frontières for years. Even now again. Is that enough or is it not enough?

My cousin and his wife, who had their second child two months ago, have taken in two Ukrainian refugees, 21-year-old students, without any complications. Is that possible with a baby in the house or is it too much after a few weeks? I admire their courage and commitment. Could I do that? I don't know.

I turn my gaze further inwards. To my own emotional battlefields. What triggers me and why? And how can I change it, or rather resolve it? I can only change the world by changing myself. Start with yourself first. Sweep the dirt in front of your own front door, I tell myself. Or is that too short-sighted, too self-centred?

Empathise, not suffer

Another thought: «There is nothing good unless you do it», wrote the German author Erich Kästner. But what does acting or doing good mean to me? Perhaps the best way to express it is with wishes. I wish to remain awake and sincere. To empathise, not to suffer.

I greet my neighbours, have a chat with the «Surprise» vendor, get the old lady's box from the top of the shelf, free up my seat on the tram for a pregnant woman, tell the gang of children who want to rush onto the bus: «Stop. First you let the people off, then you can get on in peace.»

I invite Mr Hunziker, a homeless man who regularly sells his self-drawn cards at our door, in for a coffee. Everyday little things. Are they too small or do they perhaps strengthen the big picture?

Set boundaries

And I set limits. For example, I'm greatly reducing my media consumption. I'm finding it harder and harder to cope with the gripping news headlines and the flood of images. I'm switching to the radio. I listen to «Echo der Zeit» again and listen with interest to the carefully prepared content. Or I read «Die Zeit» once a week, which really takes time.

I also draw a red line when it comes to group chats. «I understand your dismay and powerlessness in view of recent developments,» I recently wrote in a chat I initiated on specific women's issues, «but this is not the right platform for it. Thank you for your understanding.»

It was well received. We don't have to share everything on all platforms. Learning to set boundaries and focus can help us to better recognise our own scope for action.

I remind myself that we as consumers can also have a say. That means buying fruit and vegetables only regionally and seasonally, reducing our use of plastic and heating, using eco-friendly detergents, swapping clothes instead of buying them, driving and flying less or doing without them altogether - the list goes on and on.

Learning from the children

My three children also give me the strength to act and bring some light into the world every day. They are slowly «luggets» in age and I am gaining more and more space to recognise and appreciate their strengths and their own inner beauty.

The question is not so much what we give our children, but rather what our children teach us.

Depending on their age, they deal with the topic of war differently (see blue boxes). My daughter is open about her insecurity. She gets involved in many different ways and thus counteracts her own powerlessness. The older son is a grand master of empathy and explores the question of justice. Our little nestling draws logical comparisons for him to the world of Star Wars, of which he is a big fan.

My children have their tasks, friends and hobbies. They are awake and warm. Perhaps - as is so often the case with children - it's simply the other way round, I think: the question is less about what we give our children and more about what our children teach us.