You Can’t Breathe Through a Broken System

Why mindfulness isn’t enough when your world is on fire

I believe in grounding practices. I believe in deep breaths, in putting your hand over your heart when the world spins too fast, in sitting with your emotions instead of running from them. These tools have helped me. But there’s something that doesn’t sit right anymore - something I’ve been holding back from saying plainly, because it might not sound so “wellness-friendly.”

So let me say it now, as honestly as I can: you can’t breathe through a broken system.

You can’t meditate your way out of a housing crisis. You can’t stretch your way through poverty. And no amount of journaling will quiet the anxiety that comes from not knowing if you can feed your kids this week.

We talk a lot about mental health these days and that’s a good thing. But sometimes I wonder if we’re talking about it in the wrong way, or at least in a way that’s too small. Mental health is important, yes. But what about the systems that shape it? What about the people who are told to “just take care of themselves” when the real problem is they have nothing to fall back on?

It’s one thing to light a candle and take a deep breath when you’ve had a tough meeting or a stressful day. But it’s something entirely different when your stress isn’t situational - it’s structural. When the thing weighing on your chest isn’t just anxiety, but eviction notices. Food stamps that don’t stretch. A job that doesn’t pay enough to survive.

I’ve been there. I’ve tried to be “well” while things around me were falling apart. I’ve sat in therapy sessions worrying more about how to afford the next one than anything else we talked about. I’ve opened a notebook to “write it out” while secretly hoping the pen could cover my electricity bill. I’ve done grounding exercises in a room that didn’t feel safe. That’s not healing. That’s survival, dressed up in the language of wellness.

This is what we don’t talk about enough. That mental health isn’t just about thoughts and feelings. It’s about circumstances. It’s about access. It’s about basic needs. You cannot heal in the same environment that’s hurting you and that includes environments shaped by poverty, racism, classism, ableism, and the impossible expectations of capitalism.

There’s an ugly trick happening here, and it’s worth naming. The system we live in will neglect people, then tell them it’s their responsibility to “cope better.” It will create impossible conditions, then blame you for not being resilient enough to survive them. That’s not self-care. That’s gaslighting.

We tell people to practice gratitude but never ask why they live in a world where joy feels like a rebellion. We tell them to focus on inner peace, but not why the world outside keeps making peace so hard to find. We hand out band-aids and call it support, when what people really need is security, dignity, a place to land.

So no - grounding isn’t the enemy. I still believe in it. But let’s not pretend it’s the answer to everything. It’s not enough to teach people how to cope. We have to ask why they’re being crushed in the first place.

Mental health support must include housing. It must include food. It must include safety, stability, and access to care that doesn’t cost a week’s wages. Anything less is just performance.

I want a world where we still breathe deeply, but not because we’re fighting to stay calm in chaos. I want a world where healing isn’t reserved for the privileged. Where wellness isn’t a product to buy, but a birthright.

Until then, I’ll keep saying this: you can’t breathe through a broken system. And you shouldn’t have to.

If this essay spoke to something real in you, I’d love to have you join Quietly Becoming. I write for those navigating the tension between survival and self-care, for anyone who’s tired of being told to “just breathe” when the ground is crumbling beneath them.

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With love,
Salwa