How Outrage Spreads at Work – and How Care Interrupts It
A few months ago, the Executive Director of my nonprofit made a frustrating decision.
And while I won’t get into the details, this decision impacted a lot of folks at our organization. It immediately led to a sharp increase in stress and worry, flustered conversation about trust and transparency, and at least a few looking for the exits.
If you've worked in a school, hospital, clinic, nonprofit, or other care-centered workplace, you probably know the feeling. One leadership decision can ripple outward and impact just about everybody.
Not great!
For my part, you could probably describe my response as quiet outrage. The more I talked with people and heard how this would effect their team and their work, the more I steamed about the whole thing. But without a clear outlet, it mostly just rattled around in my head and body.
I think many people whose work involves caring for others know this feeling well. When you spend your days supporting students, patients, clients, or community members, it's hard not to feel protective of the work and the folks we’re trying to serve.
I quickly found myself inundated with internal narratives like:
What can I do about this?
I should probably start job hunting…
*This* is what I should say to leadership!
And then a funny thing happened: the question I shared with you a few weeks ago danced through my brain.
What is something relational I can do that will make a difference for at least one person?
I remembered that as a person who works across most of our departments, I could play an important role in shaping how we as a work community responded.
In conversations – especially the difficult ones – instead of mirroring the outrage and venting of my colleagues with my own anger and frustration, I could tend to folks. To care for them, to support them in navigating the moment, to ask questions, to listen actively with a curious spirit. And in doing so, calm my own quiet, simmering outrage.
And to be clear: this wasn't to bypass or shut down my own or anybody else's justifiable anger. I generally subscribe to what Valerie Kaur says: that anger is “the force that protects that which is loved.” But what I was hearing from folks wasn't quite anger as much as it was outrage.
And outrage doesn't exist to protect; it exists to engulf.
So over the weeks that followed, I worked to join folks through honest and attentive care, not through outrage posing as solidarity. (I was absolutely imperfect at this, but there were certainly times it felt much better.)
It was a small and intimate shift, not dramatic or even very strategic. But it definitely changed the texture of the conversations I was having.
Care Spreads Like Water. Outrage Spreads Like Fire.
This experience cemented for me a learning I’ve been percolating on throughout this past year:
Care spreads like water infiltrating soil; outrage spreads like fire jumping from tree to tree and burning the whole forest to the ground.
When we respond to people with an abundance of care, we water the ground and make it harder for the fires of outrage to spread and have an outsized impact.
This is my invitation for you.
Each of us experiences outrage right now – it’s hard not to. Either in ourselves or when we rub shoulders with each other.
Today and tomorrow – or whenever you next feel yourself coming into contact with outrage – try shifting into care instead.
Whether it’s asking a kind and curious question, checking in with a friend, joining our next Make Care Visible campaign, the invitation is the same:
How will you show care to the people close to you?
And if you spend your days caring for others professionally, don't forget to include the people beside you: the coworker, teammate, educator, nurse, counselor, or volunteer who may also be carrying more than is easy to see.
📬 Share this with your people:
