I sit with dying people a lot. Holding hands during quiet days and even quieter nights, and listening carefully to what my clients say when they know, for certain, that time has run out. Here’s what I know: those who die angry and alone are rarely the ones who were “too soft” or “too woke.”
Those who die in agony and regret are the ones who spent decades armored in contempt.
We talk so much about toxicity as something done to other people. A cruel boss who makes the workplace intolerable. A cutting remark from some random online commenter that leads a writer or reader to self-harm. Pundits who spew hatred out into the world.
All of that is true, and it’s only part of the story.
Toxicity is also something perpetrators do to themselves. Every cortisol spike, severed relationship, or word/act of cruelty accumulates in the body. Similar to the way secondhand smoke accumulates in the lungs of a partner or children. Except in this case, the spewer is the smoker.
It’s OK…
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