It’s Monday morning and your alarm just went off. You reach for your phone, turn off the alarm, and—despite knowing better—you immediately start scrolling through the news. You’ve read all the research. You know that starting the day with a screen, especially doom-filled headlines, is one of the worst things you can do for your mental health.

And yet, here you are. Again. The first headline makes your heart sink. Another essential community program has lost its funding. Two countries on the brink of war have escalated to violence. Some wealthy figurehead has once again found a way to skirt accountability, and somehow, it’s all business as usual. It’s not even 8 a.m., and already your chest feels tight. You’re tired, discouraged, and overwhelmed—and the day hasn’t even begun.

If any of this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. In recent years, an invisible but powerful force has settled across our collective psyche: a sense of helplessness. Escalating mental health challenges reflect this growing distress. The crisis is especially acute among younger generations. The 2024 Mental State of the World report by Sapien Labs highlights a dramatic decline in youth mental well-being, with many reporting high levels of emotional distress that significantly impair their daily functioning.

The reasons are numerous and interconnected: lingering effects of the COVID-19 pandemic, economic instability, ongoing climate emergencies, global conflict, and the unrelenting noise of social media. No matter your background or political beliefs, one thing seems increasingly universal: the feeling that something is broken. And not just in the world “out there,” but in the way we’re experiencing it all internally. We feel pulled in every direction, disoriented, ungrounded. We’re more connected digitally than ever before, yet more disconnected from each other—and from ourselves.

Why Peace Feels So Hard to Find

When I think of moments when I’ve felt truly peaceful, a few vivid memories come to mind.

• Floating on a stand-up paddleboard in the middle of Lake McDonald at Glacier National Park in Montana, surrounded by stillness.
• Sitting on a balcony in Costa Rica, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
• Walking alone in a forest, hearing nothing but the wind in the trees.

These moments were real. They were beautiful. And they were also rare. They required time, money, planning, and the ability to physically leave my day-to-day life. In other words—they were exceptions, not the rule. And that’s the trap. 

Peace, in our modern lexicon, is often framed as a place or a product. Something we can visit, buy, earn, or escape to. Go on a yoga retreat. Download a mindfulness app. Buy the candles, the noise machine, the weighted blanket. Peace is “out there,” just beyond our reach. But if peace only exists in external circumstances, how often will we actually get to feel it? Once a year? Once a decade? Is it possible—just possible—that peace could live within us, not just around us?

The Nervous System Wasn’t Built for This

Our nervous systems are ancient. They were designed for survival in the face of immediate, physical threats—a wild animal in the woods, a fire in the village. When danger passed, the body returned to calm. The stress cycle completed. Homeostasis resumed.

But today’s threats are constant and intangible. Notifications, deadlines, passive-aggressive emails, existential dread, and the subtle but corrosive feeling that we’re never doing (or being) enough. We’re stuck in a chronic state of low-grade (or high-grade) alarm. Our sympathetic nervous system, responsible for the fight-or-flight response, never quite gets the message that we’re safe.

Add to that the effects of “doomscrolling”—the compulsive habit of consuming negative news—and we have a perfect storm. Excessive screen time, especially before bed, is directly tied to disrupted sleep, increased anxiety, and difficulty regulating emotions. The result? A world where many of us are physically present but emotionally absent, constantly reacting rather than responding.

In this landscape, peace starts to feel like a fantasy. Something reserved for weekends at the lake. A luxury for the privileged few. Or worse—something we should be able to feel, but can’t seem to access, which only adds guilt to the mix.

The Physiology of Peace (And Why We Struggle With It)

Recently, I revisited Waking the Tiger by Peter Levine, a seminal text in the trauma healing world. In it, Levine describes how wild animals process stress. When a gazelle is chased by a lion and survives, it physically shakes after the event to release the tension from its body. Then, it goes back to grazing. No residual trauma. No overthinking. No “what if.”

But humans? We don’t shake it off. We internalize. We ruminate. We carry unresolved stress for years, sometimes decades. We become adept at staying in motion, pushing through, ignoring the signals from our bodies until they scream at us through migraines, insomnia, or burnout.

In their brilliant book Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, sisters Emily and Amelia Nagoski describe the importance of “completing the stress cycle”—doing something that signals to your body that it’s safe to stand down. This might be physical movement, deep breathing, crying, laughing, or connection with another human being. It’s not just about stress management; it’s about stress release. This is the foundation of what I call reclaiming peace—the deliberate act of reconnecting with your body, your breath, your boundaries, and your sense of purpose.

Most of the time, however, we don’t complete the stress cycle. We interrupt it. And in doing so, we rob ourselves of our ability to return to baseline—our ability to feel peace. What’s more, for those of us who have experienced trauma—and that’s most of us in some way—our stress responses become more easily activated and harder to calm. Hypervigilance, people-pleasing, perfectionism, and emotional numbing become coping mechanisms. The world feels threatening, and peace feels unsafe or unfamiliar.

Reframing Peace: Not a Luxury, But a Necessity

And then, even when we do find a moment to rest, there’s that whisper of guilt: You’re being lazy. You’re lucky you can even take a break. You should be doing more. Even writing about my peaceful moments on a lake or in Costa Rica gave me pause. I wondered if I was bragging. If I’d alienate people who haven’t had those opportunities. That’s the inner narrative so many of us carry—that peace is indulgent, selfish, or a reward we only get after we’ve finished proving our worth. 

Let’s pause here. What if peace isn’t the reward? What if it’s the requirement? What if cultivating peace in our daily lives is not just beneficial but essential—especially for those of us in caregiving roles, those navigating systemic oppression, or those working toward justice? The truth is that peace makes possible what burnout cannot. Peace allows us to pause before we react. Peace creates the conditions for empathy, clarity, and courage. Peace is what makes space for creativity, connection, and sustained resistance. Peace is not passive. It is active, intentional, and often hard-won.

A Gentle Practice to Begin

If the idea of reclaiming peace feels overwhelming, start small. Peace doesn’t begin with a 10-day retreat. It begins with a single breath. Here’s one way to start:

A Two-Minute Grounding Practice

• Find a quiet place or simply pause where you are.
• Place your feet flat on the floor. Feel the ground supporting you.
• Take a deep breath in through your nose. Hold it gently. Then exhale through your mouth.
• Notice: What can you see? Hear? Feel against your skin?
• Repeat this cycle a few times, letting your body settle.

You might notice your shoulders drop, your thoughts slow down, or a flicker of calm return to your chest. That’s the power of pausing. It’s not about fixing everything—it’s about reminding yourself that you are here, and you are still in this moment. There is no perfect way to do this. Peace doesn’t need perfection. It needs presence.

Reclaiming Peace, One Step at a Time

So, let’s go back to that Monday morning. The alarm goes off. The world is still heavy. The headlines are still grim. But maybe—just maybe—you pause before you pick up your phone. You place your hand on your chest. You take one slow breath. You remember that peace doesn’t require perfect conditions. It begins with you. Peace isn’t elusive because you’re broken. Peace is elusive because we’ve been taught to outrun ourselves. But the path back isn’t as far as it seems. It starts here. One breath, one moment, one practice at a time.

As we begin to make space for peace—however small—we often uncover something deeper: clarity, steadiness, even a quiet sense of hope. With time, these moments start to add up.

And if you’re curious about what it looks like to explore this more deeply, join me for the #MyPeacein50 challenge—a yearlong journey of small, evidence-based peace practices during the year I’m 50. You’re invited to:

• Visit my website to find the newest MyPeacein50 practice 
•  Subscribe to receive the posts directly in your inbox every Monday morning 
• Download the free Calm Calendar to track your reflections or notes from week to week
• Follow along on Instagram or LinkedIn or share your own moments with the hashtag #MyPeacein50 (totally optional) 
• Share your own ways of coming home to yourself 

 It will kick-off on July 7. You don’t have to do it perfectly. You just have to begin.

Best,

Lisa