Unease at Work: A Welcome, but Uncomfortable Sign of Our Humanity
As many of us instinctively scroll through our newsfeed, refresh our laptops, or scan the front page, the news we are confronted with has been increasingly unsettling. Americans murdered by men in masks, families rounded up and thrown into vans, numerous accounts of girls abused by wealthy men, and an ominous sense that these amoral and abnormal actions are fast becoming “the new normal” in America. Whether viewed through your lens as a father, mother, friend, immigrant, or simply as an American, the consistent inflection point for many is how each of these events conflict with an inherent sense of decency and humanity.
The visceral reaction of sadness, dismay and despair we often keep to ourselves, out of concern that it could be misconstrued as part of a political narrative or ideology. But feeling such pain, or simply reacting to what you are seeing, is not partisan—left, right, or center—nor is it liberal or conservative. That uncomfortable feeling is the expression of your humanity piercing through clouds of uncertainty that now rest above the country.
Yet amidst the seemingly ever‑present drumbeat of painful revelations, what’s often lost is the realization that half of our waking lives we view the world through another lens. For at least eight hours a day we are in the office, working on the line, behind our desk, or in the C‑Suite, engaged in our careers. As we don the uniform and place a lanyard around our neck, it often signals a need to refrain from revealing our thoughts and feelings about the very acts that conflict with the tenets of our humanity. It’s an age‑old stance we take, out of necessity, professionalism, and often out of habit. But it is not without risks, and at times such acquiescence comes at a cost.
After all, we’ve been taught that the workplace is no place for politics, religion, or anything that reveals too much about ourselves or could disrupt overall operations. These events, however, that we allow ourselves to witness and to feel, are apolitical. They are reflections of a strained human condition that decades ago would have shocked the conscience of a nation, but are now viral, trending, and there for all to see time and time again. And how we each witness these events, and our proximity to them varies, both emotionally, and personally. All the while our humanity, that endearing and necessary part of who we are remains, it thankfully gnaws inside and elicits discomfort and imbalance.
In my work as a psychologist and in my past role as an executive, I have sat with some on my team who sought a space to discuss such feelings. Some needed only a moment of silent acknowledgment. Others a closed door and the safety to express fear, sadness, or despair. These conversations were never about politics. They were about people trying to make sense of a world that suddenly felt less safe, predictable, or humane.
Mine was a sample size of one, but when leaders and colleagues do not acknowledge the emotional weight of these events, even subtly, it is often received as indifference. And the resulting passive dismissal of the ambient hum of distress follows them into meetings, emails, and Monday morning check‑ins.
When dialogue does occur, it almost always happens behind closed doors—a choice made out of professional necessity, but also out of a deeper instinct to protect ourselves from the stigma of being “too affected.” An understandable worry that showing pain would be seen by others as weakness, or that acknowledging the emotional toll of these events would be spun as voicing a political viewpoint.
As the incidents mount, it becomes more challenging to dismiss the impact they are having on the workplace, and quite possibly on ourselves. Adopting the status‑quo 9‑to‑5 “nothing to see here” mentality may yield the illusion of stability. But beneath that lies the danger of pretending—or conveying, whether intentionally or simply through a lack of awareness—that you are unaffected, untouched, or unmoved. Acknowledging the difficulty of the moment and cultivating a culture of safety and support does not require grand statements, sweeping declarations, or an abandonment of workplace decorum.
Ironically, profound and constructive support can be gleaned through the simplest of gestures. A nod. A pause. A moment of grace. Each subtly conveying compassion, a moment of connection, all steeped in our professionalism and dedication to our craft. Such signs of empathy and support are not political acts, nor are they platitudes or performative. They are beacons of our humanity—signals that say, “I see you. I know this is hard. You are not alone.” They remind us that compassion is not a violation of workplace norms; but rather it is the foundation of trust, connection, and leadership.
The images and stories we encounter increasingly are not unlike those from past generations. And to many they are hauntingly familiar. Yet they are no longer confined to the front page of a newspaper or witnessed only on the 6:00 news. These tragedies, and the trauma that follows, are livestreamed, replayed, dissected, and shared in real time. As these mount, in the absence of recognition, a kind word, or even the subtlest sense of honoring and listening to our humanity, these events become collectively traumatizing. After all, in the recent uptick in violence, all are becoming unwilling but increasingly likely recipients: the immigrant, the Black man, the Latina, the white woman, a child, and even a blind man on a cold winter’s night in New York.
It may be uncomfortable, feel awkward, or elicit a bit of unease—but all of this thankfully emanates from the humanity that remains. As disruptive as it may be, this incursion of humanity into our lives, and into the workplace, should not be stifled, dismissed, or distracted. In a dose and frequency that works for you—whether leader, colleague, or friend—honoring your humanity by acknowledging it helps us make sense of what we are feeling. Not to change the world or sway opinion, but to understand that what we are feeling is real, and our reaction to it is healthy.
To not be moved by this would be unhealthy.
Should the days ahead bring more uncertainty, more loss, and more moments that test our emotional resilience, the questions for each of us are simple: Will we allow humanity to be present in ourselves and the workplace? Will we offer subtle gestures that remind others—and ourselves—that compassion still lives here, and that it is okay to feel something in response to what we are witnessing.
Because in the end, the workplace is but one part of our world. It helps us put food on the table, a roof over our head, and for many is an indelible feature of who we are. Allow it to be seen, heard, and expressed in ways that honor your professionalism but also convey to yourself and others that you see them.
Denying your humanity eight hours each day, five days a week portends a workplace absent of support, empathy, or compassion. The end product, a workplace that may be productive, but one that is ultimately unsustainable, disconnected, unsupportive and unsafe for those whose humanity is central to who they are.
Instead, foster an environment where humanity is allowed and acknowledged. One that enables a culture of support and grace during what may be challenging days ahead. Recognizing this is not a partisan act, nor does it reveal what side of the fence you’re on. But it does reveal that you too have retained your humanity, and as a leader, colleague, and for some, a friend, right now, that is exactly what we need.