In a world that seems to be constantly in crisis, such as climate change, social injustice, and political problems, it’s hard not to feel the weight of responsibility. For those of us who were once deeply involved in activism, that weight can be even heavier. I used to be on the front lines, attending protests, community meetings, and amplifying voices that needed to be heard.

Back then, I felt purposeful and connected to the movement for change. It made me feel one with my community. But now, life looks different. Work, family responsibilities, and other priorities have shifted my focus. The energy that once went into activism now gets divided among deadlines, bills, and quiet moments of piercing myself together for my mental health.

Am I doing enough, or am I even doing anything at all?

This shift has left me with a quiet and vulnerable question: am I doing enough, or am I even doing anything at all? It’s a question that doesn’t always have a clear answer. The world hasn’t gotten any quieter or more just; if anything, the need for action has only grown. And yet, my own involvement has waned not because of apathy, but out of time constraints and the complexities of adulthood. 

I scroll through news headlines and social media updates and feel that familiar fire and determination in my chest, but then quickly extinguish under the weight of everything else I have to do. The passion hasn’t gone away; it’s just harder to act on it in the way I once did.

I worry that I’ve […] abandoned a version of myself who believed in the power of showing up, no matter what.

These questions have been echoing in my mind for some time, but I got to voice them when one of my closest friends and I got some free time to hang out. While we were in high school and senior high, some of our friends and I would hold placards on the street, then go to class or bring extra clothes, knowing we had a scheduled meeting with other sectors after school. But as I focus on my work and he focuses on his studies while working, it’s hard to find a time to get back. Hopefully, the movement will understand, or at least the people we were with can sympathize.

There’s a deep sense of disappointment that comes with this realization. Not just disappointment in the state of the world, but in myself and for not being as present, as loud, as relentless as I used to be. I worry that I’ve let something important slip away, that I’ve abandoned a version of myself who believed in the power of showing up, no matter what. It’s easy to romanticize the past, but still, there’s a part of me that misses the certainty of fighting for something bigger than myself. That feeling of solidarity, of hope born from collective action, is hard to replace.

Yet, maybe part of growing is understanding that our contributions don’t always have to look the same. The work we do, whether it’s raising awareness in small conversations or simply staying informed, is still part of the movement. Life evolves, and so do we. The struggle and disappointment are real, but they also point to how deeply we care. Perhaps doing enough doesn’t mean doing everything; it means doing what we can, where we are, with what we have.