The World Before Breakfast

War often feels like something distant , a geopolitical event unfolding somewhere far away, affecting other countries and other lives. Many of us grow up believing that if war happens, it will happen somewhere else. Yet in a hyperconnected world, that emotional distance has shrunk dramatically. I see myself waking up not to sunlight or a quiet morning routine, but to news alerts, distressing images, and urgent updates about violence unfolding somewhere in the world. Sometimes the first thing we encounter each morning isn’t the sky outside our window, but a headline. And before the day has even begun, the body is already holding tension.

If you have ever found yourself reaching for your phone before you’ve even sipped water, only to be met with news about conflict, you might recognize the quiet unease that follows. The day begins with a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment before.

For people living in regions directly affected by conflict, the psychological burden is immediate and profound. Daily life can become structured around uncertainty about safety, about loved ones, about what tomorrow might bring. But even those of us far away are not untouched by this experience. The constant flow of news and social media updates can make it feel as though we are witnessing the crisis in real time. Many people find themselves checking updates repeatedly, scrolling through headlines late into the night, or carrying a vague but persistent sense of dread that something worse might happen next.

Psychologists often describe this experience as war anxiety , a state of persistent worry, fear, and emotional overwhelm related to the threat or reality of armed conflict. And it’s important to say this clearly: these reactions are not signs of weakness or overreaction. In many ways, they are deeply human responses. Our brains are wired to detect danger and respond quickly. When we encounter information that signals a threat , whether directly or through news coverage , the nervous system activates protective responses designed to keep us alert and prepared (Liu & Liu, 2020).

Sometimes this shows up in the body. You might notice your heart racing while reading the news, or a tightness in your chest, or the familiar flutter of “butterflies” in your stomach. Sleep might feel more restless, especially if you have been scrolling through updates late at night. Other times, the effects show up in the mind: racing thoughts, difficulty concentrating, or imagining worst-case scenarios. Some people experience panic attacks. Others feel strangely numb , as though the mind is trying to protect itself from absorbing too much distress at once (Lerias & Byrne, 2003).

Part of what intensifies these reactions is the way we now consume information. In the past, people encountered news at certain times of the day , through newspapers or scheduled broadcasts. Today, updates arrive constantly. Social media platforms are designed to prioritize emotionally charged content, meaning that stories about conflict, destruction, and fear are often amplified and shared widely (Tellis et al., 2019). Over time, repeatedly witnessing such narratives can lead to what psychologists call vicarious trauma , emotional distress that arises from witnessing the suffering of others, even when we are physically far away.

Another powerful ingredient in war anxiety is uncertainty. Wars rarely stay neatly contained within borders, and the possibility of escalation can make the situation feel unpredictable and beyond control. When the future feels uncertain, the mind often fills the gaps with worst-case scenarios. We refer to this pattern as catastrophic thinking , the tendency to imagine the most devastating outcomes (Sugiura & Sugiura, 2016). While some level of worry is understandable ,even adaptive ,these spiraling thoughts can leave us feeling helpless and emotionally drained.

If you have felt this way recently, you are not alone. And while we cannot control global events, there are ways we can care for ourselves psychologically during times like these.

One of the most compassionate things we can do for ourselves is set gentle boundaries with news consumption. Staying informed matters, but being constantly exposed to distressing information can overwhelm the mind and body. It can help to check the news intentionally at certain times of the day rather than throughout the day. Stepping away from the stream of updates allows the nervous system space to settle.

It can also help to reconnect with simple grounding activities. A short walk outside, listening to music, journaling your thoughts, or spending time with people you trust can gently shift your attention away from cycles of worry. These small moments do not erase the reality of conflict, but they remind us that safety, connection, and ordinary life still exist in our immediate surroundings.

Another important step is simply acknowledging how we feel. Many people place pressure on themselves to stay productive, composed, or emotionally unaffected. But witnessing human suffering , even from afar , can be deeply distressing. Feeling worried, sad, angry, or helpless is a natural response. Talking about these feelings with friends, family members, or supportive communities can make the experience feel less isolating.

For some people, transforming distress into meaningful action can also be helpful. Supporting humanitarian efforts, donating, volunteering, or responsibly raising awareness can restore a sense of agency that anxiety often erodes. Even small acts of solidarity can remind us that we are part of a larger network of care.

In a world where conflict can reach us through our screens within seconds, protecting our mental well-being becomes an essential act of care. Remaining informed while also remaining grounded is not easy, but it is possible. And sometimes the first step toward steadiness is simply acknowledging what many of us are quietly feeling: that it is hard to witness the world in pain ,and that it is okay to seek moments of gentleness for ourselves along the way.

Author: Jahanvi ( Trainee Counsellor)