My activist heart is tired. My mama heart is too.

Old-school conservatives would have called me a bleeding-heart liberal. I admit that I am – my heart certainly feels crushed and bruised these days.

Like many people in the United States now, feelings of guilt, shame and borderline despair threaten me on a semi-regular basis. I always keep going, but the awfulness tickles at the back of my mind. Those feelings came to a head most recently with the news about separating immigrant and refugee children from their parents. While I had always been able to clear my head previously, these horrors just kept on creeping back in. Even time spent with my kids reminded me of how much of a luxury that is.

As a result, I’ve been sick of it all. Sick of my kids having to grow up in this world. Sick of knowing that less privileged kids have always grown up in this world, further back than I could imagine. Sick of the knowledge of how bad things are and knowing my choosing to know or not know is a privilege in and of itself. Sick of not feeling up to the task. Sick of feeling that I’m not enough. Sick of feeling I can never be enough.

Last year, I thought I had found a life jacket, something to hold onto. I thought I had found my purpose in this whole mess, my unique contribution – my writing. And there was one, shining piece of the whole puzzle – a book.

I had wanted to write a book since I was a little girl.

I had been feeding myself on this hope, using action to stave off despair. If only I worked hard, I thought, I’d get a book deal. If only I got a viral post, I hoped, I’d have a big enough platform. If only I kept the Facebook gods happy, I’d accomplish my dream and change the world. If only I did what I needed to do, everything would be different. If only, if only, if only.

While my dream is far from dead, it was dealt a nasty blow recently. Despite working to build my social media platform for a year, an expert on a webinar told me that my number of followers was a “red flag.” (She obviously didn’t know you fine folks!) Although I had heard that I needed much higher numbers than I have to get a publishing deal, I didn’t really believe it.

Hearing her say those words made it all too real. I was left shaking and staring at my computer screen, thinking “What do I do now?” over and over again. I spent days rewinding and playing her words over and over in my head. Was all of my hard work for naught? Could I never actually make the difference I long to make?

Rolling these questions over in my mind endlessly resulted in a lot of exhaustion and frustration. But they also led to a few truths.

The fact is, I was right. Telling my stories and sharing them with others is still my unique contribution to the movement. I’ll keep calling my Congresspeople, showing up to marches and signing petitions, but my writing is mine and mine alone.

But there were so many ways I was painfully wrong. So many lessons I’ve had to learn over and over again.

Once again, I learned the danger of pinning my hopes on any single thing. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott says, “Expectations are just resentments under construction.” Even in writing, there are many paths forward. There are many ways to make a difference. I’ll continue to pursue all of them. And disregarding all of the good that has come from this Facebook page and my blog in the last year is to disregard not only my work, but the people that I’ve helped. Many people have said how much they appreciate my writing – I can’t just write off all of you!

Another big lesson was once again realizing that I can’t do this on my own and realizing no one ever expected me to, except me. I saw that I have limits, in time, energy and money. I realized that it’s okay to take a break.

Maybe you’re thinking the same sorts of things that I was and still am. Maybe you’re wondering if there’s anything you can do to make this broken world a better place. Maybe you feel helpless in the face of so much suffering.

I don’t have easy answers. The answers I have – keep acting, keep being grateful for what you have, keep appreciating the beauty in the world, keeping loving each other and your neighbors – both feel too small and too hard at the same time. But they’re really all there is.

What I can promise is that no matter what, I promise to be here with you. Even if I only know you virtually, even if we’ve never even interacted, I’m here in solidarity. I hope you are too.