When Did We Stop Caring? And Who Cares Anyway?
The big question here is - Is it that we don’t care or is it that we have forgotten how?
Maybe you can feel it too?
An underlying thread in modern life - that deeper care has been lost in the rush of it all?
Where’s the good service these days? Where’s the customer care? The after-care?
And I get it, I do - we are all busy, so, so busy.
But how has care been reduced to bio-hacking, notifications, commodification and automation?
Have we become too busy to care?
I honestly think the problem is, that care requires time and tending and most of us don’t have or make the time because we are so busy being busy!
Care has become transactional and yet another thing to manage. An emoji, a text, a comment on a post, a message instead of a phone call.
We are slipping further and further away from the kind of care that matters - care that requires time, effort and heart.
Has busyness become a shield that we didn't realise we were carrying?
Disconnection in the name of convenience and efficiency over empathy?
It’s the very small human ways we have forgotten like;
* Meeting a friend in real life - not just on instagram or facebook
* Sending a handwritten card or letter - even if it’s short
* Dropping off a meal or some flowers to a friend, relative or neighbour
* Sending a thank you note to let someone know they made a difference or impact in your life
* Telling someone what you appreciate about them
* Calling a friend on their birthday - not just sending them a message on facebook
* Picking up the telephone to call someone you haven’s spoken to in a while
* Meeting a friend or relative for a walk
Care doesn’t have to be grand or perfect. It just has to be real.
Felt.
Given with sincerity.
This is relational care.
And yes - it takes more energy but it also gives something far more impactful than a facebook message or a text message ever could.
Care is not something we can afford to lose.
It’s how we know we matter to each other and is the ground of our shared humanity.
So maybe the bigger question here is this:
Are we willing to slow down enough … to even consider how we care?
Because naming and noticing the loss of care is actually the first act of care.
Personal Reflections - As A Giver Of Care
* When I offer care or support, what motivates me most: connection or completion?
*Do I slow down enough to see and feel the person I am with or do I default to getting the job done?
*What does relational care look and feel like for me in the way that I serve?
Personal Reflection - As A Receiver Of Care
* When have I felt genuinely cared for - like I mattered beyond a role or a result?
* Have I ever felt like a number, a task, or a transaction? How did that land in my body?
* What helps me to trust someone with my vulnerability?
* Where do I still tolerate transactional care because I feel I have no choice?
With love and care
Tanya x
Author’s Note:
I write from lived experience - not as an expert, but as someone who has walked through loss, grief, healing, and awakening, and who is still learning and unlearning every day. I am committed to walking this path with as much humility, truth-telling, and reverence as I can.
My words are offered in the spirit of reflection, not judgment. They are invitations - not instructions. I write to untangle, to understand, to process what feels unspoken, and to offer language for what other’s might also be carrying.
I want to acknowledge that I hold privilege - including access to healing, education, and land. While I’ve known loss, trauma, and disillusionment, I also recognise the ways in which I’ve been resourced, supported, and held. My intention is to never assume a singular truth, but to name my own with care and honesty.
If something I write stirs discomfort, I invite you to sit with it gently. Not through the lens of shame or defence, but with compassion and curiosity. And if something resonates, may it be a balm that brings you closer to yourself.
My work and writing is heart-led - imperfect, evolving and rooted in a desire for integrity and collective healing.
May presence and kindness carry us all.
With love,
Tanya