We Still Belong to Each Other

An invitation to steady yourself and those around you in the week ahead, through small acts of care.

Aug 10, 2025

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Dear friends

Greetings from Portugal, where I am resting beneath blue, sun-filled skies on an eco farm in the hills of the Algarve. This is the place where I step away from the noise of the world, returning to the slow rhythms of nature — and to myself. Days here are quiet, shaped by the sound of birdsong, the rustle of wind through olive trees, and the simple pleasure of watching the land and its life unfold. It is a setting that invites reflection on what sustains us, especially in times when the wider world feels fractured.

Last Sunday, I wrote about how authoritarianism doesn’t just go after our rights — it also targets the trust and care that bind us together. It frays the invisible threads between us, making it harder to give and harder to receive. And yet, I also shared that both can be reclaimed, that small, everyday acts of generosity are a quiet but powerful way to resist isolation, rebuild trust, and remind each other that we’re not alone.

Today I’m sharing a practical tool to help you turn that reflection into action. I’ve adapted it for our current context from a positive psychology practice, so it’s designed to help you strengthen the give-and-take that keeps relationships alive, even when authoritarianism fosters fear and suspicion in an effort to shut them down. It will walk you through recognising the ways you already give and receive, spotting the scarcity thinking that can get in the way, and practising small, intentional acts of generosity over the course of the week.

As I mentioned before, this is not about grand gestures. It’s about the steady, sustaining work of keeping connection alive — one small act at a time. The more we practise, the more we push back against the story that we have to go it alone. And the more we remember that trust and hope grow best when we share them.

Here’s what you’ll need — both practically and inwardly — to work through this exercise in a grounded, intentional way:

Time
Set aside about 10–15 minutes for each step, spread over days if you like. Step 4 will also need 5–10 minutes daily for your act of care, plus a short evening check-in. Go slowly; this is an invitation to pause and reconnect.

Materials
A notebook or digital journal, a pen or keyboard, and ideally a quiet spot—though quiet inside matters more than quiet outside. Bring, too, a sense of permission to slow down and let care matter.

Nothing fancy is required. What matters is your willingness to show up honestly, and reconnect with something steady inside you that authoritarianism cannot touch.

Step 1: Remember Your Ways of Giving and Receiving

Under advancing authoritarianism, care is the thread that holds our humanity together, even as the world begins to fray.

This first step asks you to notice the small acts of care that might have faded from view. Even in times of pressure and uncertainty, you are still someone who gives, and you are still someone who receives.

Turn your attention to the ordinary rhythm of recent days. You’re not looking for dramatic gestures, but for quiet exchanges — subtle, perhaps, but real. A listening ear offered. A useful article shared. A check-in with someone who’d gone quiet. A moment when someone made space for you. The comfort of being remembered.

These are not small things. They are the opposite of what an authoritarian culture wants: people cut off from one another. They remind us we are still in relationship, still part of something shared.

Now, recall five specific moments from the past few weeks when you either gave or received something meaningful — time, kindness, attention, solidarity. For each one, note:

What happened
What you gave or received
How it felt at the time
How it feels to remember it now

You don’t need to explain or justify anything. Just let it count. And if you want to deepen its impact, speak it aloud.

Why it matters:

This step is not just a memory exercise; authoritarianism thrives on disconnection, wanting us to become selfish, isolated, alone. This is your quiet refusal — a deliberate reminder that your capacity for connection is intact, and that no matter what happens, there is still space for you to give and to receive.

Step 2: Notice Where Fear Pulled You Back

Step 1 reconnected you with your capacity to give and receive. Step 2 asks you to notice where that capacity gets interrupted — when fear, overwhelm, or scarcity can quietly take hold.

This is not an exercise in shame or self-criticism, but clarity. When we can see these moments for what they are, we’re no longer ruled by them and can choose differently.

Authoritarian systems thrive on fear. They teach us that safety lies in self-protection, that trust is a risk, and that we must conserve what little we have. Over time, those messages take root, and we start pulling back without realising it. This step is about slowing down to see that pattern — gently and honestly.

Think back over the past few weeks. Recall moments when you felt the urge to give or respond, but didn’t. Maybe you looked away, told yourself it wasn’t your business, or felt too tired, too busy, or too afraid. Every one of those choices made sense at the time. But bringing them into the light helps you reclaim your agency.

Your task:
List five moments when you chose not to give, even though part of you wanted to. For each one, note:

What was happening
What you held back from offering
The thought or feeling that stopped you

Then ask: Was that feeling grounded in truth, or was it scarcity speaking — fear of not having enough time, energy, safety, or support?

You might find thoughts like:

I can’t afford to get involved.
I’m too exhausted to care.
It won’t make a difference.
If I stop, I’ll lose momentum.

These aren’t failures, but traces of a culture that teaches survival through disconnection. Naming them is the first step toward choosing another way.

Why it matters:
Authoritarianism changes the emotional climate. It rewards detachment, punishes vulnerability, and turns generosity into risk. This step helps you see where fear has taken root — not to tear yourself down, but to make space for trust to return, and for the possibility of opening again, even in small ways.

Step 3: Imagine Where You Could Give More — Without Depleting Yourself

You’ve remembered how you already practise reciprocity, and where fear or overwhelm have interrupted it. Now, let’s look at what’s still possible in your everyday life. This isn’t a call to stretch yourself thinner. It’s simply about noticing where small acts of care can still be offered freely — without cost to your wellbeing, and without pressure to fix anything.

Authoritarian systems feed on our exhaustion, wanting us burnt out and convinced that care is a burden. This step helps you find your boundaries and work within them.

Your task:
Look gently at your daily life and ask: Where could I offer care, not from guilt or obligation, but from the grounded sense of I still can?

Maybe it’s in a conversation you already plan to have. Maybe it’s in your workplace, your neighbourhood, your chosen family. Maybe it’s online. Or in the quiet of your home. Maybe it’s toward someone you love, or someone you struggle with. Or even toward yourself.

Write down at least five small, specific ways you could offer care this week — nothing performative or draining, just honest possibilities. For example:

Sending a voice note to someone on your mind
Sharing food with someone in need
Letting someone vent without fixing it
Forwarding helpful information
Giving a genuine compliment
Offering patience to someone who’s overwhelmed

Let the list reflect your real capacity. Giving doesn’t always mean doing — sometimes it’s simply being present, or letting kindness touch everyone.

Why it matters:
When life feels pressured or resources feel scarce, it can be easy to believe we have nothing left to give. We still have choices, reach, and the ability to shape our relationships — and our world — in small, sustaining ways.

Keep your list close; you’ll use it in Step 4.

Step 4: Practise One Small Act of Care Each Day

This is where you make the exercise a practice — one small act at a time.

For the next seven days, choose one gesture from your Step 3 list each morning. Pick something simple, possible, and sincere. You’re not doing this to be productive or to prove anything, but to stay connected to what authoritarianism tries to strip away: your agency, your ability to choose kindness, your place in a circle of care.

This is about being present, following through, and making generosity a practice — not just an idea.

How it works:
As you carry out your chosen action each day, notice what happens inside you. What does it feel like to extend something rather than retreat? Does it soften you, strengthen you, stir up resistance? Do you dismiss it as too small, or do you let it count?

At the end of the day, take a few minutes to write down what you did and how it felt. Keep it simple. A few lines are enough.

Date
Chosen act
How I felt before
How I felt during
How I felt after
What I noticed or learned

Some days will feel flat, but that’s part of the practice. What matters is showing up — for others and for yourself. Each act says: I’m still here. I still choose connection. I still have something to give.

Why it matters:
Authoritarian culture trains us to harden; this trains us to stay soft where it counts. To stay relational when systems push us to isolate. To keep tending the invisible threads that hold community together.

These acts may never be seen or applauded, but they change you — and, often quietly, the people around you too.

Step 5: Reflect on What’s Taken Root

You’ve spent a week practising small, deliberate acts of care. This hasn’t been about learning a coping mechanism, but about staying intact — choosing to remain connected, present, and human in a world that often pulls us the other way.

This final step is about noticing what’s changed. No need to over-analyse — just listen inward. What shifted? What stayed the same? What surprised you? Reflection isn’t the end of a practice; it anchors what you’ve learned so you can carry it forward.

Set aside fifteen or twenty minutes in a quiet moment. Read through your notes from the past week. Remember each act, and let the feelings come back.

Ask yourself:

What impact did these acts have on my mood, energy, or sense of self?
Did anything shift in my relationships, even in small ways?
Was it harder to receive than to give — or the other way around?
Did any old fears resurface, and how did I meet them?
Do I feel more connected, more hopeful, or more grounded than a week ago?

You don’t need tidy answers. This is about tracing your emotional landscape and seeing what’s growing there. Maybe nothing dramatic happened — that’s fine. Or maybe you noticed small openings: a little more ease, a little less fear, a sense that care is still possible. If it felt hard, name that too. Honesty is part of resisting the pull toward numbness and disconnection.

Why it matters:
Reflection turns this from a one-off task into a deeper knowing: I can still give care. I can still receive it. And I am not alone.

You don’t have to follow this practice perfectly — or even every day. Think of it as a pattern to return to — something steady enough to hold you when the world feels brittle. The change may not be obvious at first, but deliberate reciprocity changes how we move through the world, and over time, it changes what we’re able to carry.

I learned this in Zimbabwe, where under Mugabe’s rule, care was survival. At the time, I didn’t call it a practice; it was simply how we lived. Twenty-five years on, it still shapes my life. Here on Substack, I try to bring that same intention into what I share. I don’t always get it right, but I’ll reach out to apologise and show care when I don’t. My hope is that what I offer here makes your day a little clearer, lighter, or more bearable. And if this practice has opened something in you — even a little — I’m glad we found each other here.

In solidarity, as ever

—Lori