The Numbing of America

When the unthinkable becomes ordinary

Lately, I have been wondering how much cruelty a person can witness before it begins to feel normal.

Not acceptable, exactly. Most of us would still say that cruelty is wrong. So are dishonesty, corruption, violence, greed, and the casual humiliation of other human beings. We know this. We learned it when we were children, or at least we were supposed to.

Don’t lie. Don’t cheat. Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you. Don’t make fun of people who are weaker or different. Keep your promises. Treat other people the way you would want to be treated.

These are not particularly sophisticated moral principles. They would not require a panel of experts or a three-day continuing education seminar. Most of them could fit on a poster in an elementary school hallway.

And yet, here we are.

Every day seems to bring another lie, another act of cruelty, another threat, another person enriching himself at someone else’s expense. We hear words that would once have been disqualifying and watch behavior that would once have caused genuine shame. We see people say one thing on Monday and deny saying it by Wednesday, even though there is a video of them saying it.

Then we move on to the weather.

It is not that we no longer care. I think many of us care very much. Maybe that is part of the problem.

When the Nervous System Has Had Enough

Psychiatrist Dan Siegel developed the idea of the “window of tolerance.” It describes the emotional zone in which we can remain present, think clearly, feel what we feel, and respond rather than simply react.

When too much pushes us above that window, we may become anxious, angry, frightened, agitated, or constantly on alert. We keep checking the news. We argue with people we have never met. We lie awake imagining everything that could happen next.

When the strain becomes too much, we can drop below the window instead. We shut down. We disconnect. We stop reading. We stop reacting. We may even stop being surprised.

Numbness is not necessarily indifference. Sometimes it is protection.

Human beings are not designed to remain in a state of moral outrage all day, every day. Eventually, something has to give. We cannot absorb every tragedy, every threat, every lie, and every display of cruelty at full emotional volume. Our nervous systems turn down the sound so that we can continue making dinner, going to work, feeding the cats, and remembering that the laundry is still in the washing machine.

Again.

The danger is that what begins as self-protection can gradually become acceptance.

Things that once shocked us become merely unfortunate. Things that once demanded a response become another headline to scroll past. We may still recognize that something is wrong, but the feeling does not land in quite the same way.

That is how the unthinkable becomes ordinary.

The Distance Between What We Say and What We Do

Brené Brown writes about the difference between our aspirational values and our practiced values. Our aspirational values are the ones we say we believe in. Our practiced values are the ones visible in how we actually behave.

The distance between them is the values gap.

Most of us would say we value honesty. But suppose I go to Kroger, place a case of water on the bottom of my cart, and conveniently fail to mention it at the checkout. Perhaps I notice it as I am leaving and decide that Kroger has plenty of money.

I can continue to say that I value honesty. I may even say it quite sincerely. But in that moment, honesty is my aspirational value. It is not my practiced one.

This is not about the case of water, of course. It is about the stories we tell ourselves when living according to our values becomes inconvenient.

We value compassion until the person needing compassion is someone we dislike.

We value fairness until fairness costs us something.

We value truth until the truth threatens our position, our comfort, or our sense of belonging.

We value human dignity, but sometimes make exceptions for people we have decided do not deserve it.

The values gap is easy to see in public figures. It is much harder to see in ourselves.

That may be one reason conversations about values so quickly become preachy. We point across the divide and explain what is wrong with everyone standing over there. We assume our own side is operating from integrity, while theirs is motivated by ignorance, greed, or malice.

I do not want to do that here. I am quite capable of rationalizing my own behavior when it suits me. Most of us are.

What Happens When Trust Disappears?

A society cannot function well when a person’s word means nothing.

We need to be able to trust that people are generally telling us the truth, that agreements will be honored, that laws will apply consistently, and that those with power will not use it simply because they can.

Of course, people have always lied. People have always cheated, exploited others, and failed to live according to their stated beliefs. There was no golden age of perfect honesty and decency.

But there is a difference between knowing that dishonesty exists and expecting it everywhere.

When we no longer believe anyone’s word, we become suspicious of everything. Every statement must be checked. Every promise comes with an imagined loophole. We begin to assume that everyone is acting in bad faith.

That kind of distrust changes us. It makes us more cynical and less generous. It encourages us to protect ourselves first and ask questions later. We may begin to believe that integrity is naïve and that the only sensible response to being surrounded by dishonesty is to become a little less honest ourselves.

Why should I follow the rules when no one else does?

Why should I tell the truth when lying seems to work so well?

Why should I behave decently when decency is treated as weakness?

Those are understandable questions. They are also dangerous ones.

Returning to Our Own Values

I do not know how to repair the moral life of an entire country. This is fortunate, since no one has asked me to take on that particular assignment.

But I can pay attention to the distance between the person I say I want to be and the person my daily choices reveal.

If I say I value honesty, am I honest when dishonesty would be easier?

If I say I value compassion, do I practice it only with people I understand?

If I say I value courage, can I speak when something is wrong—even when there may be a cost?

If I say I value dignity, do I resist language that reduces people to objects, categories, insults, or inconveniences?

Living authentically does not mean living perfectly. If perfection were required, none of us would make it through breakfast.

It means noticing when we have drifted. It means being willing to acknowledge the gap without immediately defending ourselves. It means trying to bring our behavior a little closer to what we say matters.

Sometimes that will involve a public act. More often, I suspect, it will happen in ordinary moments no one else sees: telling the truth, keeping a promise, admitting we were wrong, returning the extra change, refusing to laugh at a cruel joke, or making sure the case of water gets scanned.

These choices will not make the news.

They may not change the people in power or restore our trust in institutions. But they can keep us from becoming what we have grown tired of witnessing.

Perhaps that is where a return to decency begins. Not with a grand declaration about what everyone else should do, but with a quieter question:

What do I say I value?

And can anyone tell by the way I live?

A Small Invitation

What values do you say are most important to you—and can those values be seen in the way you live?

Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead values exercise begins with a deceptively difficult assignment: choosing the two values that matter most. It offers a useful place to begin examining the distance between our aspirational values and the ones we actually practice.

Explore Brené Brown’s List of Values

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Janet Nash, MSW, LISW-S, Yoga Therapist, CCTP, is a psychotherapist, writer, and founder of Interiority Wellness. Her work explores mental health, generational healing, creativity, nature, and the quiet ways we find our way back to ourselves.