There’s a particular kind of anger that doesn’t arrive as an explosion. It arrives quietly. It sits just beneath the surface while you answer emails, scroll headlines, and move through your day as if everything is fine.

The violence.
The unrest.
The constant sense that the world feels increasingly volatile.

None of this is happening in isolation. And whether or not you’re actively talking about it, your body is registering it. I see it everywhere right now. People aren’t indifferent. They’re overwhelmed.

When the nervous system is exposed to this much intensity for this long, it tends to swing between two states. Hyper-alert or completely checked out. Fury or numbness. Doom scrolling late at night. Trouble sleeping. A dull sense of hopelessness that doesn’t announce itself, but lingers all the same.

I’ve felt it too. And I’ve had to become intentional about how much I let in, and when. Lately, I read the headlines in the morning so I know what’s happening. I save the deeper pieces for later, when I actually have the emotional capacity to sit with them. It’s not avoidance. It’s energy management. Staying informed without letting the day get hijacked before it starts.

This moment brings me back to a high school memory. Assemblies. Folding chairs. A gym filled with anxious energy. I remember one in particular at the start of the Gulf War. One of our classmates had a brother fighting. Even at sixteen, it felt obvious to me that something about it all was wrong. I didn’t have the language for it yet. I didn’t know where to put the anger or the confusion. I just knew it was there.

That’s often how moments like this arrive. Awareness before answers. Discomfort without resolution. And it’s hard to sit inside something that doesn’t move neatly toward closure.

As real estate agents, you do this every day, whether you call it coaching or not. You sit with clients in uncertainty. In fear. In moments where timing, money, and emotion collide. You listen without rushing. You steady the room. You help people move forward without pretending the discomfort isn’t real.

This is emotional labor. And it requires regulation. Presence. Capacity. You can’t pour from an empty nervous system and expect it to hold.

For me, staying regulated looks simple and physical. Not looking at my phone first thing in the morning. Moving my body before the world gets loud. Running. Lifting. Creating space to sweat out the static. Talking things through with people who know how to listen without escalating the noise.

Anger itself isn’t the problem. Uncontained anger is. When it has nowhere to go, it turns inward as anxiety or outward as chaos. When it’s given a container, it becomes something else entirely. Focus. Energy. Momentum. The ability to show up with intention instead of reactivity.

You don’t have to go numb to survive this moment.
You don’t have to stay furious to stay awake.

You can remain informed. You can care deeply. And you can still take care of yourself and the life you’re building. That balance isn’t passive. It’s disciplined. It’s powerful. And right now, it’s necessary.

Coaching Corner

When emotions are high and the world feels volatile, your job is not to absorb everything. It’s to contain it.

That starts with you.

Before you try to calm a client, ask yourself if you’re regulated.
Before you respond, pause long enough to breathe.
Before you problem-solve, make sure you’re not reacting.

Grounded agents create grounded outcomes. Presence is a professional skill. Treat it like one.

There’s something essential that often gets skipped in moments like this. You cannot guide someone through turbulence if you’re gasping for air yourself.

As real estate agents, you are often the first emotional first responders. Your clients aren’t just looking to you for market insight. They’re looking for steadiness. For containment. For someone who can hold the room when everything feels uncertain.

That responsibility begins with how you take care of yourself. Your body. Your sleep. Your attention. Your energy.

Before you rush to reassure a client, regulate yourself.
Before you try to calm the situation, make sure you can breathe inside it.

Put your oxygen mask on first. Not because you’re stepping away, but because you’re preparing to lead.

When you’re grounded, your clients feel it. They settle. They trust. They make better decisions.

This isn’t self-care as an indulgence.
It’s professionalism.
And right now, it matters more than ever.