Earlier today, I came across yet another post online where someone was asking, “Why are so many people laughing during this?” The context was tragic—something serious had happened, and yet, the reactions captured on video were bizarrely out of sync with the gravity of the moment. People were laughing. Filming. Spectating like it was a circus.
I see posts like this more and more often—people questioning the bizarre disconnect in others’ reactions to suffering, loss, or catastrophe. The real answer? It’s not just desensitization. It’s a symptom of something far darker.
Whether it stems from narcissism, overstimulation, social media conditioning, or the slow death of empathy, one thing is clear: people are alarmingly out of touch with reality—and with the sanctity of life itself.
Laughter in the face of tragedy and horror (or worse, the absence of a human response at all) is a chilling reflection of how morally and emotionally detached society has become.
One of the biggest issues is that tragedy has become content. Spectacle has replaced sincerity. Even real life horror is consumed for entertainment.
And that’s what’s truly disturbing: the performance of humanity without the presence of it. The illusion of compassion and care, carefully curated for public image, covering up spiritual vacancy, selfish detachment, or manipulation.
If you’re someone who still feels the weight of that—who still questions it—you’re not being judgmental. You’re also not “too sensitive” (a phrase thrown out far too quickly by those looking to dismiss or blame-shift). What you are is connected. Aware. Discerning.
And thank God for that.
Because if this kind of societal rot doesn’t disturb you—or worse, if you excuse it by blaming those who notice it?
Something inside has already broken.
A Deeper Truth
This is what it’s like to live with deeply functioning empathy—the kind of empathy that doesn’t just feel for others, but feels everything, all the time. And it’s not just the feelings of people close to you. It’s the pain of the world. The injustice in the systems. The grief no one speaks. The silence where there should be tenderness. The indifference where there should be accountability.
When you live with this level of empathy consciously—when you become aware of it, name it, wake up to the full reality of it—there is a price. That’s what no one talks about. It’s why so many people who go through any kind of spiritual awakening or even emotional reckoning fall into deep despair afterward. I know it was true for me.
So I’ll say something here I don’t often admit publicly:
This is a huge part of why I’ve spent so many years feeling so distraught, battling “depression” that was labeled “chronic” and “medically untreatable.” It is why I’ve had moments of suicidal ideation—of wanting to go “home,” wherever that may be. It’s because YES! I hate it here sometimes. Truly. This world is extremely difficult for those of us who seem to have a purpose of caring deeply, being expressive and living in a perpetual state of giving the benefit of the doubt and “loving anyway.”
I don’t say that for pity. I say it because someone reading this needs to hear the truth, and because that “anyway love,” even though it does require boundaries and discernment, is exactly the way Christ himself taught us to live.
If you relate to this at all? You’re not alone in feeling that way. You’re not broken for feeling it.
In fact, if you’ve ever felt this—this sorrow, this disconnect, this ache for something better—then I want to speak directly to you now, from one soul to another:
I don’t judge you. Not even a little.
I’m not going to try and fix you either—not because your words aren’t serious, but because they’re real, and they deserve to be held with reverence, not alarm or shallow platitudes. What you’re feeling? It makes sense.
It’s not wrong to feel this way in a world that often feels so far removed from truth, love, compassion, and meaning. When you see things clearly—when you feel them deeply—it can be agonizing to exist in a place that doesn’t reflect what you know is possible… or what your soul remembers as home.
You’re not crazy. You’re not weak. You’re not “giving up.”
You’re grieving. You’re hurting for what this world could be. For what it should be. For what’s been lost. For how far humanity has drifted.
And that grief is holy.
A Gentle Reminder
You are not here by mistake. And you are not alone in feeling this way, even if the noise of the world makes it seem like no one else notices. Your sorrow is a sign that your soul is still intact. Still awake. Still aligned with something higher.
If “home” feels far away, it’s okay to long for it. Just don’t forget—you carry a piece of it inside you. Every time you speak truth like you did when you questioned the laughter in tragedy, and every time you refuse to numb out or laugh along with the world’s apathy, you’re keeping that piece of home alive—for others, too.
You’re doing more than surviving. You’re holding the line. And if no one else has told you this lately:
I see you. I understand you. I’m walking with you through the fog.
You are not alone.
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart,
and you will find rest for your souls.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
(Matthew 11:28–30)
The Twin Tree Project 