When I was reimagining what The Fed Up community model would include, I knew a reflective practice of being radically honest with ourselves had to be at the heart of this work. Because this introspective, soulful, and often times, very challenging self-interrogation was integral for me as I worked hard to reclaim my voice over this past year.

And yet, perhaps ironically, learning how to slow down, pause, and get quiet enough to hear your own inner voice speak is the cornerstone to becoming a bonafide loudmouth.

This ritual of creating spaciousness is something we will return to again and again.

What you need

Before we begin, let’s make sure you have what you need to support this practice.

• A journal— I encourage you to go buy yourself a journal that ignites delight within you. A journal you can dedicate to this community and to this practice.

• Something to write with— your favorite pen that writes just right.

• A timer— some of these exercises are timed, so have something nearby that can help you stay on track.

• A space free from distraction— is there a time in your day where you can center this ritual? My favorite time is the morning with my second cup of coffee sitting near our large living room window.

• Dedicated time— this practice should take no more than one hour to complete. It can be done in one seating or broken up over several days. That is up to you. But ensure that this time is yours.

• (optional) A soothing playlist or background music— I often put on my banala focus dot or a meditative playlist in the background to help ground myself into the space I am in.

• (optional) A delightful aroma— I love to burn incense or light a candle when I am journaling, meditating, or practicing tarot. I find these sensory elements help create the sacred space that supports this introspective work of unmuting.

The Theme

So you wannabe a loudmouth? Identifying the values that compel your voice to speak

Loudmouth. What feeling comes up when you hear that word? Maybe not a great one?Historically, a loudmouth is what we would call someone who talks too loudly, is probably annoying, maybe a bit arrogant?, and frankly— won’t shut the fuck up.

Not necessarily something any of us would consciously aspire to be.

But as I spent the summer really thinking about my vision for The Fed Up community, I realized I did indeed want to nurture a chorus of loudmouths.

No, not a community of assholes who inject their opinion into every conversation (whether it was asked for or not), nor a community of people who aren’t interested in listening to other people’s ideas or perspectives, and definitely not a community of people who just love to talk to hear the sound of their own voice—

Yeah, no. Instead, I want to help create a community of people whose values inform their voices. Whose values dictate when and how they should speak up. Whose values compel them to say something even when it may feel risky, vulnerable, or scary. To admit something to themselves, or to say the true thing but the hard thing at home or at work, or to stand up for what they believe, specifically when its not easy, or popular, or chic.

I see it simply through this formula: Values + Voice = Loudmouth

Much like we queers rebranded the word “queer”, The Fed Up community is going to rebrand the word “loudmouth”. We are taking it back, making it cool, and inspiring others to be the best loudmouth versions of themselves along the way.

Now let’s spend this practice reflecting on this new definition of loudmouth, and more specifically, the values that inform the type of loudmouth you aspire to be (or maybe already are and want to continue to nurture).

The Practice

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Heyoooooo my fellow loudmouths and wannabe loudmouths (more on the loudmouth thing later)!

It’s good to be back.

Over the last year, it became clear that people were, indeed, fed up. 2025 threw change at us at breakneck speed (yeah, fuck you, DOGE) — and many of us lost more than just our jobs— we lost our careers, our dreams, and ourselves. Industries destroyed overnight. What would come next? Many wondered (and are still wondering!) how they would get through this.

So after my DOJ office was dismantled by DOGE last year, I started The Fed Up as a place for collective catharsis and protest. I was tired of tip-toeing around saying what I was actually feeling and not acknowledging what was actually happening. I no longer wanted fear to be a barrier to speaking out against injustice.

So I decided to reclaim my voice.

I started to write about and process my thoughts, feelings, and experiences, people (feds and non-feds) were attracted to the unfiltered honesty and vulnerability that this community provided, because, let’s be honest, i’s hard to come by.

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And as time went on, I heard again and again from feds and non-feds that you too were interested in reclaiming your voice. You wanted a place to say the true thing out loud and to be witnessed by a supportive of community when you did.

So this summer, I decided to take a beat and reimagine how The Fed Up could be this container for anyone seeking to reclaim and nurture their voice — for themselves, their communities, and democracy.

To help me better understand how best to create this space, I conducted market research, talking to both subscribers and non-subscribers, and the results were crystal clear—

• nearly 95% of respondents I talked to are fed up with what’s happening in the world

• nearly 75% of respondents said they resonate or resonate very much with the statement, “I want to reclaim my voice so I can more meaningfully connect with myself, my community, and the world around me.”

• nearly 85% of respondents said they would invest time into in-person and virtual community gatherings, and

• nearly 75% of respondents said that having a community of people going through the same thing would help them show up consistently to do the important work of unmuting

Community, community, community— that is what the vast majority of you are craving as a resource to help you reclaim and nurture your voice. So when I started thinking about how I would create this new version of The Fed Up, I used this desire for community, connection, and accountability as the filter for making every decision.

So whether you want to know yourself better, speak up more at home or at work, or use your voice as a tool to have a positive impact in the world, The Fed Up’s new community membership will provide the connection and accountability you asked for, so we can say the true thing out loud, together.

Community Membership Explained

Each of us are muted at different times for different reasons— even those of us with strong voices.

Maybe you struggle to hear your inner voice, or you question your own thoughts and ideas, so you never speak up. Perhaps you are overly polished— you edit, analyze, and overthink— which gets in the way of saying what you actually want to say. Maybe you know what you want to say, but the fear of how you will be perceived stops you from ever saying it. Or you do speak up most of the time when it feels important to you, but you are searching for a community of like-minded loudmouths to help nurture the hard work of staying unmuted.

Admittedly, even with a mostly unmuted voice, I still struggle at times, with being overly polished or worrying too much about how I will be perceived— negative thinking and self-doubt are often my biggest barriers to harnessing my most powerful voice.

(To learn your voice type, you can take my no-strings-attached 8-question, “Where Is Your Voice Muted?” quiz now. Click on button below.)

Take quiz now

My goal with The Fed Up is to help people reclaim their voice— for themselves, their communities, and democracy— together. To meet this goal, I have structured each month into three major community touch points:

• Beginning of the month: “Let’s Be Honest” Monthly Practice; first Tuesday

  • First Tuesday of every month, I will email community members “Let’s Be Honest” Monthly Practice- a self-paced practice centered around a topical theme relevant to unmuting. (First ritual drops September 1st!)

  • The practice will include activities and exercise to help you excavate and nurture your inner voice. These exercises will include journal prompts, probing questions, visualizations, and/or meditations.

  • Each practice should take no more than 1-hour each month to complete.

• Mid-month: The Fed Up Office Hours; second Friday after the first Tuesday

  • I will host and facilitate The Fed Up Office Hours— a guided community check-in to support each other as we work through the monthly practice (or any related to unmuting!)

  • The Fed Up Office Hours will take place for 1-hour over Substack’s chat function.

  • The chat function will remain open and available for any community members at any time— so feel free to start new threads to ask questions or share reflections as they come up throughout the month.

• End-of-month: Out Loud, Together— The Fed Up’s Monthly Community Gathering; fourth Friday after first Tuesday

  • I will facilitate the Out Loud, Together — a virtual live community gathering for all community members to come and journal, reflect, and discuss the month’s theme.

  • Out Loud, Together will take place over Google Meet from 3:00- 4:15pm ET. I will provide a link to community members a few days before. (We may adjust the time depending on people’s availability.)

  • If you are unable to make the live, an abbreviated recording will be available on The Fed Up’s Substack .

The community membership is available for $11/ month or $111/year through 2026. By subscribing now, you are locking in your monthly or yearly fee, protecting against price increases.

If you want to invest early, you can also become a founding member which includes additional perks (like an intuitive tarot card reading!). The founding community membership is capped at just 22 spots.

Read below in “Subscriber Tiers Outlined” for more information.

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Subscriber Tiers Outlined

Below you will find a high-level description of what you will gain access to at each subscription tier:

Free Subscriber

As a free subscriber you get access to the following…

• “Where Is Your Voice Muted?” quiz– take the quiz now to identify your voice type and learn where you may need help unmuting.

• The Fed Up: Monthly reflective essays written by me that explore my questions, thoughts and musings on mental health, spirituality, democracy, and connection

• The Fed Up Features: A monthly guest story series written or spoken by subscribers to The Fed Up

• Ability to submit your guest story to be considered for The Fed Up Features

Paid Community Membership

Want to turn the volume up? As a paid subscriber (for just $11/month or $111/year through 2026!), you gain community access to The Fed Up. This includes everything you get as a free subscriber plus…

• “The Unmuting: Five Rituals to Begin”: a PDF workbook designed to help you begin unmuting, or to nurture a voice that is already unmuted (emailed to you upon becoming a paid subscriber). Take the free quiz to know where to begin!

• “Let’s Be Honest” Monthly Practice: A self-paced, monthly practice provided at the beginning of each month to support you in the introspective work of unmuting. Every month will be centered around a different, topical theme.

• The Fed Up Office Hours: A monthly, facilitated chat (on Substack chat) to check-in and support each other working through the monthly practice.

• Out Loud, Together: The Fed Up’s monthly, virtual, reflective community gathering where we practice saying the true thing out loud, together. Join us live on Google Meet at the end of each month to journal, reflect, and discuss the month’s theme together. I will email members a link a few days before gathering.

• Loud Mouth Interview Series (coming in October!): A monthly live interview with a loudmouth— a person who said the true thing out loud even when it was risky. Members can submit questions to speaker and will have access to recording.

• 20% discount off future virtual or in-person workshops (Discount code will be emailed to all paid subscribers when workshops are open for registration. Code can also be found on “Perks” tab.)

(If you are already a subscriber, be sure to check your email from last night. As a thank you for your early belief and loyalty, I am offering you a special promotion. Through August 31st, you can lock-in 20% off your first year paid subscription (only $8.8/month!)— granting you community access to The Fed Up that will support you in the soulful work of unmuting.)

Subscribe now

Founding Membership

Or you can invest early in the important work of unmuting and become a founding member! For one payment of $222, (capped at just 22 memberships) you will gain access to everything outlined above and…

• A lifetime paid community membership to The Fed Up

• An intuitive tarot card reading facilitated by me (value of $120)

• The Fed Up sticker

Scholarships Available

If you feel called to join this community but cost is a barrier, please know scholarships are available. You can email me at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com (subject line: “Requesting Scholarship”) and provide me with your name and the email you would like to use to subscribe. I will gift you a 1-year paid community membership— no questions asked.

Reclaim your voice. Unmute your life.

The Fed Up is a community first, which means this is a place we are co-creating, together. Your input and feedback as a member will directly influence how The Fed Up bends and stretches overtime. Please feel free to share your questions, thoughts on what’s working, what else you’d love to see, and what has room for improvement with me at anytime by emailing me at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com.

If you’re interested in the transformative work of unmuting, I invite you to become a community member. The first monthly ritual drops on September 1st! Eek! Can’t wait to meet you there.

Now let’s say the true thing out loud, together.

XO

Jordan

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P.S. While I have you here, check out a few of my favorite essays from this past year.

Last year, I started The Fed Up after my DOJ office was dismantled by DOGE. Filled with rage and grief and so much shame, I built this community to help me and other impacted federal workers process what we were witnessing and experiencing. To give voice to those of us who felt silenced.

Over the past year, this community has been my resting place. You all have helped me reconnect and reclaim my voice during ongoing uncertainty. I got back to writing. I met so many new people. I designed and facilitated (a few times!) my first workshop. I experimented and played, and it has felt really great.

Although life continues to be one big question mark, I feel more aligned to who I am, what I want, and what I want to say, and that’s because of you all and this community.

For those of you that have been with me since the beginning, you may have noticed The Fed Up has been outwardly slowing down. I have been posting less frequently, I am less active on LinkedIn, and it would make sense if you began to wonder if The Fed Up was quieting down to eventually fade out.

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But what has been happening behind-the-scenes has felt much more energized intentional. I have been contemplating a soft rebrand for awhile now. What started as a place for protest, a space for catharsis, a community for impacted federal workers to say the true thing out loud has since evolved.

I have felt The Fed Up shifting and shedding— mirroring much of what I have seen in myself over these many months.

So The Fed Up is (re)finding its voice— who it is for and what it will offer based on the person I am now, the stories you have shared, and the feedback I have heard. I understand that you too are craving more meaningful connection to yourself, in your relationships, and the world around you, and I believe The Fed Up can be the community to support you in that work.

When The Fed Up relaunches in August, you can expect updated offers for both free and paid subscribers that will help you reclaim your voice through reflection, writing, and honest conversations.

To do this, I have decided to spend June and July focused on planning and prepping for The Fed Up 2.0. But I want your help! I want your voice to help inform this next iteration.

So I’d love to know: what content would make you more likely to engage with The Fed Up this fall— the essays, a live journaling club, workshops on finding your voice? You can click on the button below to answer this question. It should take less than a minute!

Take survey

If you are a paid subscriber, I want to thank you specifically. Your early investment in this community has helped me believe in myself and in this concept — it is what has kept The Fed Up alive. I am so grateful. Please check your email :) I've sent each of you a personal note with an invite and a small gift.

See you in August!

Jordan

I sit on a chair across from my twin brother who sits on my couch. We drink our coffee quietly, as he looks around, commenting on the art on my walls.

“I like the moon theme,” he says before taking a sip from his cat-covered coffee cup, a cup I inherited after our grandma died.

It is Mother’s Day weekend, and my family is traveling together for the first time in many years. My wife and I bought our condo in 2022, but this is the first time my brother, Jared, has been able to visit us here.

He’s been through a lot— we’ve all been through a lot over these last six years. I take in this moment. Trying to take pictures with my mind. How he looks. How I feel. What his laugh sounds like. I want to remember it forever. I know how precious it is.

“Jared, I have been wanting to ask you something,” I say. He looks from the wall to me. I nervously shift in my seat.

“I have started writing a novel inspired by our relationship. It is fiction, but it pulls from everything we have been through these last several years.” I look at him, waiting for some sort of reaction. He listens, and I explain that it is a dual-perspective story of twin siblings— each with their own perspective on the different things happening in their lives, each on a quest to save the other.

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I tell him, “I want both people who have experienced psychosis and Serious Mental Illness, and those who love and support them to feel deeply seen when reading this book.” I search his face for some sort of hurt or rejection. I don’t see anything. “I also want to start writing more about mental health and everything we have overcome and survived… How do you feel about that?” I ask as if I am slowly pushing a door open, peering around the corner to see what may be coming.

“Oh, I don’t care.” he says nonchalantly, and what seems to be, sincerely, and then carries on with a different topic. But I am skeptical, so I push him more, bringing him back to my question.

“You don’t care if I use your name? Not to share intimate details about your story, but I do want to use my platform to help destigmatize, educate, and support people and their families who are living with these challenges.”

“No, I don’t care, but I do wish people would talk more about how the environment is a huge factor in creating the conditions for Serious Mental Illness. People always put all the blame on the individual, and they want to give them these really harsh drugs with severe side effects, but they aren’t willing to talk about how the environment around a person really affects their outcomes.”

“I totally agree with you,” I say honestly. He changes the subject, and this time, I let him.

It was February 2020 when my brother had his first break. I remember lying in bed in my student apartment in Sweden talking to Hannah in the early days of our relationship when I received a message from his friend on Facebook.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but have you heard from Jared? I was supposed to meet him this morning, but he hasn’t shown and I can’t get a hold of him,” she said.

My stomach dropped. Right away I knew something was wrong. Jared has always been a reliable person. He always did what he said he was going to do, was respectful, timely, and communicative.

I called my dad to let him know the message I just received.

We spent the next several hours calling hospitals, making a missing person report, requesting a welfare check. Nothing made sense.

Where could he be?

Several hours later Jared showed up sheepishly— he knew how concerned everyone was. He said on his way to meet his friend, he decided to pull over to take an impromptu several mile hike nearby on his own. He left his phone in the car. He decided not to wear shoes.

We were relieved, but I knew something was not right. I remember talking to my parents, and I think they agreed it was odd behavior for him, but I think they were hoping it was just a thoughtless, impulsive decision. He did seem okay when we talked to him.

But I knew that wasn’t the case. To me, the behavior seemed manic.

This incident is what I mark as the beginning of my family’s Troubles. Soon after this episode, the pandemic hit and Jared was laid off from his great job in the Bay Area. He was forced to move back home to Colorado and live with my parents. The stress was an aggravating factor, and it seemed his symptoms escalated over night. Paranoia and delusions infiltrated every conversation. My family felt totally inept to help him, and we felt abandoned by the systems that were created, in theory, to help him, to support us.

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Over the last six years, we experienced many more incidents that left our family further fractured and at a loss. My parents and I did our best to help Jared while trying to find a way to live our lives even while knowing how much pain my brother was in. Even though there was a gaping hole between us in the shape of Jared. But our hands were tied, and there was very little we could do to help him if he did not want it.

I struggled with knowing what to do with this ambiguous grief– my feelings felt so intractable. I wanted to be hopeful that things could get better, but being hopeful also was excruciating at times.

Hope became a four letter word.

There were many days, weeks, and months where I thought I would never see my brother again– I tried to make peace with that reality, but then things would shift, and he would be resurrected, and I would see glimpses of him, the person he is and that I recognized, and I would become overwhelmed with guilt for ever giving up hope on him, on our family.

I talked very little about what was happening even with my closest friends. The pain, at times, felt too much to touch. Talking didn’t feel like it helped relieve any of my pain, in fact, it felt like it aggravated it, and I was hypersensitive to how people responded to what I shared, feeling further away from them.

But as time went on, I realized that there were so many people and families like mine who were in the shadows, struggling. I began feeling like I was ready to share my story, but I also did not know how to do that. My story intersected with my brother’s, so I wasn’t sure how to share ethically. I considered his own privacy and perspective. I know that he and I likely see many things differently, and I believe as the person who has lived with SMI, his voice and experiences should be included, or at least, given the option to be included.

So for all those reasons I decided not to share my family’s story publicly until now with the blessing from my brother.

If you have been following The Fed Up, you may remember that I briefly wrote about Jared’s hospitalization in November of last year. He had another break that required him to be committed involuntarily to an in-patient hospital for nearly six weeks. The healthcare system had failed us before, so we were reluctant to feel hopeful that anything meaningful would come from this. But my mom, being the woman and mother she is, was a fierce advocate for Jared at every turn to ensure he received the care he needed and, most importantly, deserved.

A lot has happened since then– but today, Jared is doing the best I have seen him in many years. The meaningful recovery he has had feels nothing short of a miracle without negating his hard work and my family’s hard work— years of educating ourselves, advocating and connecting with other families who have also navigated the labyrinth of system barriers.

I share this today because as I expand and iterate on the themes I will touch on with The Fed Up, I hope to write more about mental health to do my part in helping reduce stigma and increase awareness. I felt so alone for so long, and I know that there are so many other people feeling the same way. I hope that these essays will help someone, at the very least, feel seen in their pain.

As part of my own grief process, my dear friend, a psychologist, and I decided to create a support group for caregivers of adult children with SMI. We have already facilitated one group, and we are recruiting members for the fall. Interested prospective participants can complete this interest form.

If you or someone you know is having a mental health crisis or you just need someone to talk to, you can call 988. To learn more visit https www.988lifeline.org.

Please share this with someone who may need it. Thank you for being here.

With hope,

Jordan

A year ago last week, I learned that my U.S. Department of Justice office would be dismantled. And in a quick succession of events that left me feeling like I had a severe case of whiplash, I decided to take the deferred resignation offer in the hopes that a longer off ramp would give me more time to dust off the dirt and figure out what would come next.

A year later, life looks a lot different than I thought (or hoped) it would.

I had thought by now my wife and I would have sold our condo and moved west to be closer to our families. I thought by now I would know with conviction what I wanted to do with my life, and, more importantly, how I would get there— that I would have had a moment of divinely inspired “Ah-ha, yes that’s it!” type of clarity struck down upon me.

I thought this one-year later blog post would write very differently.

And yet, here we are.

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This past year, I had meditated, journaled, and prayed that clarity would be right around the corner. That this aimless feeling would soon shall pass, and I would be right back to being the person with a four-part plan and a narrowly defined and operationalized purpose.

I would have goals. I would have vision. I would have purpose. I would be me again.

Clarity— like an unrequited love in a predictable yet comforting rom com— is the thing I have pined for. She would be the thing that would solve all of my problems. She would heal my overthinking, she would cure my reactivity, she would help me find hope on the hardest days— she would be my resting place.

If I had Clarity, I would know that everything was going to be okay because I knew where I was going. I knew what I was doing. I knew that my life had meaning because I had Clarity.

So I did everything I could to find her. I participated in group coaching. I started this blog. I developed and facilitated my own workshop. I went to a medium, had my cards read. Went to another medium. I read books, listened to podcasts. I felt that she was just around the corner, Clarity. Soon I would see her, and I would know.

And yet, it is Clarity that I feel has evaded me at every twist and turn of this last year. And by not having the comfort of Clarity (and perhaps the distraction and illusion of her), I have been left to deal with the parts of me that have been left exposed by the not knowing.

What do I do with all of these feelings of pain and hurt and fear now that I have nothing to distract from them?

If I don’t have a plan, what do I have?

Where do I find my own self-worth if not by attaching it to something else outside of myself?

Am I actually just lazy?

Do people still respect me?

Do I still respect me?

I started to realize that my value was deeply enmeshed with being someone that has clarity, somebody who has direction. The discomfort that came with not having a plan, to say this is what I do, and thus, this is who I am left me constantly thinking about clarity.

What am I am I do wrong? I’ve ruminated.

Until recently I had this epiphany— Maybe I am not supposed to know? Maybe, just maybe, there are important lessons I need to learn right now as I sit in the discomfort of not having clarity.

What is this uncertainty teaching me?

Reflecting back on my thirty-four years of life, I realized I have had an unhealthy dependency on clarity. I was always outsourcing my sense of self to the things I did, how I performed, what was coming next. I always, ALWAY am thinking about what should come next.

I’ve struggled with finding contentment in the present moment, in my present self. I often am striving or yearning for something else that isn’t my life right now.

Now, I don’t think being a dreamer or being ambitious is a bad thing, but I often have missed out on allowing myself to appreciate all the good that is here right now. I worked so hard to get to certain places and I often didn’t allow myself to pause and acknowledge that I was already living the life I had long dreamed about.

I remember my wife and I had a discussion years ago at the beginning of our relationship. The debate— if you asked your partner how they felt about your relationship, and if they responded, “content,” how would you feel?

“Bad!” I said declaratively. Not even taking a second to think.

At the time, I thought of contentment similarly to the way I thought about settling. Contentment to me signaled no excitement, no growth, no passion. It sounded boring. It felt like giving up, and I certainly didn’t want to be with a partner who gave up on us, who was settling for me. And I certainly didn’t want to live a life that was boring.

I feel differently today, though. True contentment is a gift; I understand that now. I may not embody it, but I do understand it.

The last year has been hard (and continues to be hard), but in many ways, it has brought me back to myself. It has asked me to stop outsourcing my value. It has asked me to get clear on who I am and what matters to me without distraction of a career or a plan.

It has taught me to look around in the here and now and find something to be grateful for, and when I do, I find so many things.

So maybe, that’s the lesson?

Anyway, here’s to not knowing what the f*** we are doing, and being content (or at least trying to be) anyway!

Thank you for being here. If this post resonated with you, please consider stacking, sharing, commenting, and of course, subscribing! I am grateful for your engagement.

Jordan

Jordan and Ashley became fast friends after meeting through Substack and discovering they had several things in common: both fired from their federal jobs by DOGE, both with twin brothers, both gay, and both tired of this sh*t.

In this episode:

• Introductions

• How Gay Are You Today?

• “You’re Fired” - a segment where Jordan and Ashley discuss the nastiest bros in the news

• “Good Gay News” - a segment where we celebrate recent wins of the LGBTQ+ community

And while you’re here, help us answer some essential questions:

Sources:

Video Testimony of Former DOGE Employees Can Remain Online, Judge Rules

The Manosphere Official Trailer

Sorry But the Manosphere is the Gayest Thing on the Internet

Mamdani establishes NYC Mayor's Office of LGBTQIA+ Affairs under new executive order

See you for our next crash out!

Get more from Jordan Mathews in the Substack app

Available for iOS and Android

Get the app

“So… I’ve decided I’m going to write a play, and I want you to act in it.” That was the line I casually tossed at all my closest friends in D.C. when we reunited after the holidays in January 2025.

They’re used to my unpredictable whims: adopting a dog despite being terrified of them, or launching a country line–dancing class after taking one class during a trip to Arizona. But even by my standards, this idea felt like a leap. I had never written anything in my life, let alone a full play, and I had exactly zero experience in theater. None of my friends had acted a day in theirs, either.

So yes, I fully understood why my announcement landed like it came straight out of left field.

But I was ready for their bewildered stares. I told them I had a story that I wanted to tell, and that creating something together might be the dose of creativity and connection we’d all been craving. What none of us knew at the time was that just a few weeks later, our careers would be upended indefinitely, and this project would become exactly what we needed to get through it.

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I had worked in international development since graduating college. What started as a one-year volunteer position in Nicaragua turned into a 14-year career across Latin America and Africa, working in education, health, and innovative finance. I worked with contractors, social enterprises, advisory firms, and NGOs, all funded by USAID. So when USAID was dismantled, everything changed. My contracts were terminated overnight, and I was suddenly without work. My network in D.C., who are mostly former colleagues and grad school classmates, also found themselves in the same position.

What had started as a side project quickly became something more. The play became my sole focus. And my friends around me were also searching for direction as the lives they knew began to unravel.

Just a few months later, the idea became real. In April, twenty of us performed the play I had written called Vacate to a sold-out audience of 150 people. It exceeded anything we could have imagined. We pushed through stage fright, memorized our lines, and stepped into our roles with conviction. In the process, we built something that felt like family.

But it was the story that lingered long after the lights went down. Vacate explores the immigration experience in the U.S. which we know is one of the most polarizing issues in our current national conversation. But I wanted to approach it differently. After years of working in Central America, immigration wasn’t an abstract issue to me. It is my dear friends and colleagues that are being villainized in the media. I know firsthand that their stories are far more complex, human, and nuanced than the narratives I kept seeing.

I wanted to change that.

So I drew from the lives of people I know to create something more intimate, an experience that invites audiences to step into someone else’s world, even if just for a moment. It was my attempt to move the conversation beyond headlines and talking points, and toward empathy by using storytelling to reveal the humanity that too often gets lost.

After the play ended, the messages started coming in. People wanted to know when the next performance would be, whether I was planning a sequel, maybe even a prequel. They were genuinely invested in the characters—so much so that it felt like they weren’t ready to let them go. That’s when it began to dawn on me that there was something bigger behind all of this.

I’d never thought of myself as a writer, but I started to see that my experiences gave me stories worth sharing—stories shaped by living abroad, by meeting people from different cultures, by forming connections that crossed borders. And I knew there were so many more people with similar experiences, people who had learned to bridge worlds in their own way. Their experiences hold perspectives the world desperately needs right now if we are going to find a path to understanding and unity. In fact, in a recent conversation with someone at the Peabody Awards, she told me “when USAID was shut down the first thing I said to my partner was ‘those people need to become filmmakers’”.

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And that’s how Wonder Productions came to life. I wanted to create a place where people who have lived away from their home countries could transform their experiences into stories that break down boundaries and illuminate what connects us all. Our storytellers come from every corner of the global landscape: international development professionals, humanitarian workers, immigrants and refugees, athletes, diplomats, students, missionaries, military families—anyone who has lived between cultures.

Most of them never set out to be storytellers. Many never imagined themselves in the media or creative world at all. But that’s exactly what makes this moment so powerful. So many of us have been forced to pause, to pivot, to reimagine what comes next. And in that uncertainty, there’s also an opening to be agile, to rethink how we use our skills, and to step into new ways of creating impact.

A year ago, if you had told me I’d be starting a production company, I would have laughed. Now, I feel more energized and aligned in my work than ever before because I’m building something on my own terms. For so long, many of us relied on institutions, systems, and job titles as the vehicles for the impact we wanted to make. But when those structures fall away, the work itself doesn’t disappear. It simply asks something different of us. It asks us to build our own vehicles. And they may take a different route than we planned, but they just might lead us somewhere even better.

So when everything you once relied on begins to crack, what light is finding its way in—and what will you choose to do with it?

Thank you for being here! If you enjoyed this essay, please consider supporting this work by subscribing to The Fed Up and sharing with someone you know. Your engagement helps others find this growing, brave, and very human community. If you want to financially support The Fed Up but are not yet ready to become a paid subscriber, please consider leaving a tip using the button below.

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If you are interested in being a guest writer for The Fed Up Features, you can email me (Jordan) at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com. I look forward to collaborating!

Until next time,

Jordan

Hannah Peterson is the founder and Executive Director of Wonder Productions. She is an international development professional who has spent almost 14 years working in Latin America and Africa on education, digital health, and innovative finance projects. She started her career working for community development projects as a Volunteer Coordinator in Nicaragua. That is where her love of connecting across cultures began. She obtained her Master’s Degree in Global Human Development from Georgetown University and a BA in Sociology and Economics from the University of Pennsylvania. She wrote her first play, Vacate, in January 2025 and performed it in April 2025 to a sold-out audience at Joe’s Movement Emporium. It is there that she found the power of storytelling and her ability to tell stories that connect people and build empathy. She is looking forward to writing more stories in the future.

Disclaimer for Guest Contributions:

The views and opinions expressed in The Fed Up Features belong solely to the guest authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Fed Up or its founder. Guest contributions are provided for informational and creative purposes only and should not be taken as legal, professional, or official advice. The Fed Up does not assume responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or validity of any guest content, and publication does not constitute endorsement.

You know, small potatoes.

So after rambling on and on to her about how pulled and disjointed I was feeling, she said, “I have just the spread for you.”

She showed me the graphic above and asked if it resonated. Although I loved the imagery, I remember having a visceral aversion to it that surprised me.

Feeling lost? Am I lost? I wondered to myself. I felt embarrassed for being perceived. I took pride in being a person who always had direction.

I am coming up on a year from when I decided to leave my federal career after learning my DOJ office would be eliminated. Over these past eleven months, I feel like I have lived 100 lifetimes.

In many ways, I don’t recognize that person anymore— the person who had a buttoned up, nine-to-five career advocating for community conflict resolution at the U.S. Department of Justice, to the person I am now— the person who writes a blog, whose only structure comes from the one she creates, and is desperately hoping to get a part-time job at her local gym while she figures out what comes next.

I have done so much disentangling this past year— carefully taking the things from the previous and current versions of myself and organizing them neatly into boxes— “The things that still fit” and “The things that don’t”. Through that work, I have felt so much closer to who I am and yet still, clarity for what comes next is, at best, nebulous.

However, through that processing, I have also learned to appreciate my essence in both of these experiences. Instead of perceiving myself through a fractured lens, I am learning to integrate the many versions of myself that are— not one more true than the other, each with her own lessons to teach and stories to tell.

Right now, this newest iteration is teaching me a lot about trust and surrender. When I first left my role at CRS, I felt ablaze with purpose and passion to use my voice in defense of the civil service and democracy. I had felt silenced for so long that much like a race horse chomping at the bit, I was ready and determined to say the true thing out loud, no holds barred.

Now, as the dust has settled, I find myself pausing. reflecting. wondering. All of these things are still true— fighting for and defending democracy feels more important than ever— AND I also want to expand into the many versions of myself that are. But recognizing this desire to pivot has also created a roadblock— leaving me feeling confused, doubtful, and without a plan.

And if you know me, you will know that I have always been a person with a plan. I thrive when I have a clear goal in mind. When I have a clear goal in mind, I feel unstoppable.

But right now, I imagine every version of myself grabbing any part of me that they can and pulling my body with all of their might into opposing directions, each vying for a piece of my brain space—

Write this blog! And write a novel! Keep building this community for impacted federal workers! But also you should expand beyond that! And you should do more tarot readings! And deepen your spiritual practices! Oh! Oh! And you should write about mental health and grief and continue to facilitate workshops and don’t stop defending democracy! And more gay stuff, definitely more gay stuff! Oh, right, and also don’t forget you have bills to pay!

So yes, things are a little, uhm, let’s say “ambiguous” for me right now.

The most critical part of me worries I am having an early-onset midlife crisis. Sometimes I think my desires and wishes and dreams are frivolous, self-indulgent, delusional and maybe even grandiose. Like is my desire to write this blog and build this community the same thing as Don down the street deciding to buy a Harley and leave his family so he could “go find himself”?

God, I hope not.

But after overcoming my initial knee-jerk reaction to seeing the Feeling Lost spread, I told Sarah that well, yes, actually it feels exactly like the reading I needed. She pulled what you see above.

Without leading you through a nuanced reading card-by-card, let me instead give you the TL;DR of what this reading communicated to me:

I am here (Six of Pentacles): I am begging (on my knees with desperation) the Universe for clarity and direction

What I think I want (Strength): I think I need to be strong, to power through, to continue to forcefully do

What I actually need (Knight of Cups): I need to trust, feel, and not force. The Universe is asking me to get in touch with my feelings and experiment creatively

What I need to give up (Nine of Swords): I need to give up the overthinking and spiraling— saying out loud what I am going through will help me move through it

What I have to face (Knight of Wands): I need to let go of my obsessive need for a plan. It is okay to pivot, to change my mind. I should go after my dreams whole heartedly and trust it will work out

What I need to pursue (Everything is fine): I need to pursue talking about the tender spots of life—the personal, the painful, the real. I will find purpose in shining a light on the personal and collective pain points (but maybe with a splash of dark humor and levity)

The end game (Ace of Swords): A victorious, triumphant card (some good news!) Clarity, truth and direction will come, and it often comes after loss

I will say I felt deeply seen in this reading. Again, I am being reminded that I am in the chapter of my life that is asking me to let go a little bit. Some things are just not meant to be known yet. And the sooner I accept that, the better of I will be. Patience, trust, and surrender will be the antidotes to my anxiety, and those mindsets will also allow me to be where my feet are.

So here’s to talking about what isn’t fine. Here’s to trying new things, feeling all the feels, letting go of my compulsive need for a plan, and trusting clarity will still come. The Fed Up is entering a new phase of experimentation, and I am looking forward to having you be a part of it.

Trusting and surrendering, together.

If you are interested in receiving a tarot reading of your own facilitated by moi, you can book a session with me here.

And if you enjoyed this essay, please let me know! Like it, share it, leave a comment, become a free or paid subscriber! Your engagement helps this brave and very human community grow. If you want to financially support The Fed Up but aren’t ready to become a paid subscriber, no worries, you can also leave a tip.

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Thank you for being here. Where are you being asked to trust and surrender in your life? Let me know in the comments below!

Xo

Jordan

I was a Peace Corps volunteer in the Dominican Republic when I first learned about Bad Bunny. It was 2017. I remember my best friend, Jamie, showed me a video of this up and coming new artist— he was a baby-faced man, tall, with long limbs, and at the time, a buzzed head.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of your brother?” she laughed. I laughed, too. Yeah, she was right. He kind of did.

Then, I began listening to Bad Bunny because, well, I did like his music, but honestly, I wanted to fit in. I was living in a new country and trying to adapt to a new culture. Bad Bunny was on everyone’s tongue, and I couldn’t be that one gringa who didn’t know up from down.

Ten years later, my love, appreciation, and admiration for Bad Bunny has only deepened. As his platform has expanded across the globe, instead of using his new found fame to indulge his own ego, he has intentionally decided to use his platform for love— to celebrate and advocate on behalf of his beloved home, Puerto Rico, to speak up on behalf of marginalized communities, and to unite people across the globe through his music.

His message is particularly potent when juxtaposed alongside the horrors that continue to be exposed everyday under this administration.

And so alongside millions, I watched last week’s Super Bowl halftime show with tears in my eyes. Analysts predicted Bad Bunny would send a political message. We all wondered, would he speak out against ICE, would he denounce this inhumane administration? Well, no, he wouldn’t, not exactly, but I would argue that his performance was still absolutely political. Instead of naming and shaming the systems and institutions that seek to oppress Puerto Ricans, Latinos and other marginalized groups, he decided to use love and joy as his tools for resistance.

In the final moments of his performance, the words, “The only thing more powerful than hate is love,” flashed across the stadium jumbotron.

His message smacked me across the face. Not because I haven’t heard it before, but because of how he chose to double down on love, joy and unity when he could have come out swinging— and we all would have applauded him for it.

His approach made me contemplate how I choose to show up and participate in the resistance. So what would Bad Bunny do? Below I have outlined three ways we can center love, joy, and unity as tools for your resistance strategy.

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1. Define who you are and what you want to be

Bad Bunny did not let the outside noise distract him from his goal to uplift and celebrate Puerto Rican and latin culture during his halftime performance. For those fifteen minutes, he remained focused, intentional, and loyal to who he is and how he wants the world to remember him.

Right now, we are all feeling the weight of authoritarian pressure— it can be easy to lose sight of our end goal. Who we aim to be and where we hope to go can feel like a unattainable mirage in the distant desert.

Arguably, one of Democrats biggest missteps has been their overemphasis on anti-Trump messaging versus “This is who we are and what we stand for”. One could argue, Mamdani’s campaign was so successful because he decided to create a clear, hopeful, unifying vision for the future of New York City rather than harping on how incompetent his opponent would be.

What would Bad Bunny do? So get clear on who you are, what you are good at, and what you want to be remembered for. In order for us to sustain a strategic and impactful resistance, we should all know ourselves.

Our uniqueness is a gift for a diversified resistance. We all can’t and shouldn’t play the same role. For me, I want to remain committed to be a loving, generous, brave person who uses my voice to further perpetuate hope, love, and democratic values through non-violence. My voice is my strength. Writing my tool. That is how I ended up here creating The Fed Up.

So what matters most to you? What are your strengths? Who do you hope to be and what do you want people to remember for? Let those answers guide you as you decide what role you want to play (or don’t want to play) in the resistance.

2. Let the haters hate

Bad Bunny could’ve taken the bait and responded directly to the decision of the far right to host their very own, “very American” halftime show, but he didn’t need to.

Although it can feel realllllllly good in the moment to call a racist bigot a racist bigot, I am not sure arguing in our comment sections with internet trolls really gets us any closer to our end goal. Having engaged a time or two in these heated social media exchanges, I often leave feeling momentarily vindicated, which is quickly followed by a crash. I feel deflated.

Being intentional with how we respond or don’t respond will be the lifeblood for our sustainability, as well as our ability to bring more people over to our cause.

What would Bad Bunny do? So instead of arguing with every MAGA comment in our feeds, what if we just didn’t? What if we if collectively made the decision to let the bigots be bigots, while using our time and resources for organizing, building community, and strategizing. I mean, if we stop giving them airtime, stop legitimating their ideas by arguing against them, just imagine all the energy we will have to do something better and more productive with our time.

So leave their comment there. Let the world see who they are and what they stand for. (or delete it, whatever feels better!) But don’t respond. Don’t try to argue. Don’t try to appeal to their bigotry with logical thinking, empathy, and rationale.

It hasn’t worked before, and it won’t work now.

Imagine how relieved we will feel when we release ourselves from the responsibility of engaging with hateful vitriol. Moving forward, consider your energy a finite resource. Let’s get clear on who and what is worth it and who and what isn’t.

3. Choose joy

Joy was the focal point during last week’s halftime show, and you didn’t have to speak Spanish to understand it. Contagious, I felt blessed to witness the joy and to experience a reprieve from the overwhelm and chaos of this moment, even if just for those fifteen minutes.

But experiencing joy right now can be complicated. Perhaps it can feel wrong to celebrate when we know that so many people in this country and across the globe are deeply suffering.

In her poem, “The Telly Cycle”, Toi Derriocotte writes, “Joy is an act of resistance.” She is often pointed to as the first person to articulate this concept. The line is rooted in Black liberation and recognizes, especially for marginalized groups. Choosing joy signifies that everything can’t be stolen by the oppressors.

Joy is the fire that helps keep the resistance burning.

What would Bad Bunny do? So how can you find ways to intentionally choose joy throughout your week. Consider reflecting on the following journaling prompts to help you find ways to choose joy as a part of your resistance strategy:

• When was the last time you felt joy? What were you doing? Who were you with? How did it feel in your body?

• What if joy was a choice, not a feeling. How would your relationship with joy shift from how you experience it now?

• What is one thing that you could do today to choose joy? (It can be super small!) Like brushing your teeth, how can you integrate joy as a part of your daily self-care practice?

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In Bad Bunny we trust,

Jordan

Minnesota is under intense national scrutiny following the deaths of Renée Good and Alex Pretti. This unique moment serves as a critical (and deeply tragic) example of why we cannot outrun breaches of public trust. Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem initially labeled Good’s actions “terrorism,” claiming she tried to run over an officer, but even DHS agents disagree. As one agent put it, “There is a video and [Noem] just lied.” The agent went on to support de-escalation in light of increasing danger. Less than three weeks later, Alex Pretti’s death followed with shockingly similar federal responses, using the same “domestic terrorism” framing—only this time, criticism was widely bipartisan, and later Noem backed away from that framing.

Good’s death ignited nationwide protests, while Pretti’s death sparked something much more rare: bi-partisan concern and infighting among groups typically aligned, from the NRA’s defense of lawful carry (implicitly against Trump), to Greg Abbot’s call for ICE to “recalibrate” its mission. Although folks disagree about how to assign fault, Pretti’s death is widely recognized as a failure across partisan lines. That’s because regardless of persuasion and outlook, we all instinctively recognize injustice—whether the focus was the killing itself, the procedural aftermath, or in Pretti’s case, the rationale blaming lawful carry. These incidents are about more than the individuals involved; they reflect America’s state of public trust. When viewed through the lens of mediation (where fair process and trust reign supreme), we see just how deep the damage to public trust goes. And why investing in methods like mediation is more important than ever.

Unpacking Minneapolis – Everything Fair Process is Not

For those unfamiliar, mediation is a process where a third party facilitates dialogue (often disputes heading towards or currently in litigation), specifically conducted by an individual who has no “horse in the race.” The Model Standards of Conduct for Mediators outlines the operative pillars which build trust between mediators and parties, and in turn between the parties themselves. Serving hundreds of thousands of cases a year (if not more), these pillars are important lenses for examining trust and breaches to it (RSI). Below are a few pillars that help reveal how trust has been breached between the federal government and Minneapolis citizens.

Self-Determination is the principle that people should be free to make voluntary, informed choices without coercion. While Minneapolis is not monolithic, mass protest and the Mayor’s bold statement certainly express the community’s will. Despite these expressions and the overwhelmingly peaceful nature of protests, federal presence only increased, adding to the risk of arrest (or worse) and coercion felt by its residents, undermining self-determination and fracturing trust.

Impartiality, the freedom from favoritism or prejudice, is equally central. Mediators rely on it to maintain trust with parties, and our justice system needs it to remain legitimate. Setting aside numerous other objections made in public discourse, when federal officials limited local investigation then later dropped their own investigation, it inevitably appeared as anything but impartial. Whatever the full story may be, the damage to public trust is done. Impartiality affords mediators the trust that enables them to resolve disputes with little more than tact and emotional intelligence—and it is essential enough to compromise trust in the rule of law when missing.

Now add in the damage from conflicts of interest. A single conflict (even the appearance of one) is enough to undermine trust in the process—even when the outcomes of the process are identical. Conflicts undermine mediators like they undermine any party investigating itself (which is why multi-party investigations are critical). By abandoning multi-party investigation, the Fed disregarded the blatant conflict of interest created and with it, the trust of the American public.

These transgressions alone destroy the quality of process. When disputes may get heated enough that parties question the mediator and fairness of process, the mediator’s duty is to address these concerns directly and adapt the process to preserve party trust in the mediator and trust in the process. The rationale is self-evident: We are all robbed when process is (or even feels) unfair; conversely, we all benefit from the protection of fair process, which is strongest when everyone commits to it, especially dissenting parties. Trust is not a nice “add on” to justice; it’s foundational. As former Michigan Supreme Court Chief Justice Bridget McCormack has noted, the rule of law ultimately depends on public belief in it. Without trust, even the strongest institutions appear perfunctory.

We are now witnessing the critical value of trust by virtue of its absence. But it’s not only about the breaches directly involved in the death of Good and Pretti, or the breaches to the fair process that could help resolve this public dispute—it’s also about the unheard calls by the people of Minneapolis. When people go unheard and stakes are high, they usually escalate, not accept defeat. Conflict resolution professor, Harry Anastasiou, explains the tragic fate when dialogue diminishes, which boils down to:

“If you do not hear me, how can I trust you to understand me? If you don’t understand me, you cannot help me, so the only option becomes forcefully asserting my will,” despite how destructive and self-defeating the logic is.

The need to be heard is fundamentally human, not partisan or ideological.

Mediators routinely observe this unmet need with parties in session, whether disputes are over massive deals or small claims and immaterial grievances, often with the infamous words, “it’s about the principal.” This is usually accompanied with self-destructive decisions like incurring legal debt they cannot afford and other harms which shows: people are willing to go to the furthest lengths to be heard and, when that’s denied, to be felt through the pain they can inflict. Whether in a small claims mediation, or in the court of public opinion, further refusal to repair fair process will only breed further mistrust, and further refusal to hear the “other side” will only grow the conditions for further escalation and destruction.

How We Got Here – Running America Like a Business at the Expense of Community

The conditions for Good’s and Pretti’s death did not happen overnight. They reflect massive pressure over time: decades of polarization, eroding trust, and the shift from exchanging information or even debating ideas to questioning motives (all of which reduces information flow, while contributing to conflict-conditioned narratives). Beyond “politics as usual,” there are profound philosophical elements at work, tectonic tensions setting the stage for massive earthquakes like those in Minneapolis.

These tensions are observable through the persuasive (but myopic) logic of “running America like a business.” When America adopts this logic, we inherit the blind spots embedded within business. Rarely seen directly, and far more often as mere symptoms, they create vulnerabilities with deeply harmful outcomes—the kind we are bearing witness to now. As a business owner, I’ve seen how these blind spots can quietly create risks waiting to materialize.

Consider the concept of equity. In business, equity measures financial value—what remains after assets are liquidated and debts paid. It’s useful, but reduces a business (and its conditions for success) to money alone, so it fails to capture relationships essential to all of business. Any business owner can tell you that relationships are critical, not collateral. While most obvious in small businesses, giant corporations are not isolated from the effects of relationships (and the webs of relationships we call a community). That’s why the CEO’s of some of the biggest companies in Minnesota—like Target and General Mills—called for de-escalation.

When we become myopically focused on only business notions of success, these blind spots lead to the neglect of relationships—that’s true for public and private leaders just as it is for everyday citizens. When relationships are ignored, they fall into disrepair; the same fate awaits a community when its people follow suit.

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Business’s Blind Spot: Redefining Equity & Reinvesting in Community with Mediation

Award-winning management science professor and consultant Russel L. Ackoff warned that businesses cripple themselves by measuring only what’s easy, not what’s essential. Relationships and their value are indeed hard to measure—so it goes that the greater the focus on business alone, the thicker the illusion. It’s no surprise, then, that this commitment to such a myopic vision would inevitably lead here, to the destruction of relationships and communities while the public institutions of justice tasked with stewarding fair process claim innocence by virtue of ignorance.

The solution is simple: we must either stop treating communities like businesses… or, expand “equity” to include relationships as assets which belong to the community (because it would be absurd to “privatize” a relationship). It then becomes the entire community’s responsibility to protect and nourish its relationships, rather than any set of individuals within it. Measuring the health of the community as a whole thus becomes “Community Equity” – the amount of community trust that remains after accounting for the debts of its relational transgressions.

Right now, America is in a lot of this relational “debt,” enough that respect for the rule of law is at an all time low. But this is precisely where mediation moves mountains. As Kwame Christian, attorney and negotiation expert, says: “if they don’t trust you, address it directly: what would help you to trust me?” Mediation brings us into dialogue to have these primal negotiations about trust, which then gives way to having further negotiations about fair process, about substance, and anything else. Fair process precedes fair outcomes. Mediation can help us negotiate the trust which holds up all relationships, communities, and the rule of law they collectively manifest. But the thing about mediation is: the issues, the input, the decisions, the solutions—they all come from and only from the disputing parties. We cannot look to an outside entity when deciding who to trust, or how others earn it; there is no judge or jury that we can outsource this to. Community Equity is, quite literally, by the people and for the people. Hard work, but it’s always worth it.

Communities rise or fall together, no matter how fiercely we pretend we can fence each other out. Beneath every shared block, workplace, or building is a web of relationships, the strength of which quietly determines whether we thrive or collapse. We can either invest in those relationships and turn them into powerful assets—or neglect them until they swell into costly, toxic liabilities (literally, they can become lawsuits that cost us everything). The same dynamic plays out on both the small and large scale, from neighbors who never bothered to introduce themselves until they are waist deep into a dispute about their fence and ready to sue, to the broad issues of public concern like the color of law and who gets to decide. Communication becomes the imperative for those relationships to succeed. We have a daily choice to make whether to invest in these relationships or not, building and maintaining trust, or letting it slip further into memory. That choice applies to all members of a community, members who have power over that community whether we like them and agree with them or not; in fact, the more we disagree with or dislike others, the more of a liability risk the relationship poses, making it all the more incumbent upon us to engage them.

These concepts aren’t theoretical. Intangible, yes, but they impact the bottom lines—enough that it has become a main selling point I use to for HousingShield, helping housing providers save 30–50% on legal and turnover costs through proactive mediation. My team and I flip the script from neglecting relationships in pursuit of profit, to getting ahead by making it easy to care about your neighbors faster. HousingShield shows that investing early in relationships produces measurable ROI while protecting community trust, one housing complex and city at a time. The model works everywhere because it addresses universal root causes: distrust and its many dysfunctions. Similar mediation efforts in Texas and other states helped stabilize hundreds of thousands of homes during the COVID eviction crisis, showing the true power of mediation at scale.

It is the focus on fundamentals, like trust and fair process, that underscore my belief that mediation can help rebuild trust in the rule of law and our communities. Decades of work by the U.S. DOJ’s Community Relations Service demonstrated how (until it was shuttered in October, 2025) trust-based mediation can calm unrest and open dialogue around fair process, which it did during the George Floyd protests. In stark contrast, relying on force to solve problems of distrust only serves to painfully reveal its limits. In the end, we don’t escape the consequences of ignoring relationships—we only pretend to, and maybe delay the compounding effects. Now is the time to reinvest in our relationships with community mediation, and build up America’s community equity again. When made fast and accessible, it delivers value that is so massive that it produces the “easy” measurements like ROI, but infinitely more important, it produces the trust essential to our nation.

Thank you for being here! If you enjoyed this essay, please consider supporting this work by subscribing to The Fed Up and sharing with someone you know. Your engagement helps others find this growing, brave, and very human community.

If you are interested in being a guest writer for The Fed Up Features, you can email me (Jordan) at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com. I look forward to collaborating!

Until next time,

Jordan

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Alec Chapa, SHRM-CP, PMP is the founder and principal consultant at Mosaic Collaborative Consulting, a San Antonio consulting firm which has impacted thousands through guiding collaborations, resolving disputes, and supporting teams through change. Alec started Mosaic to bring the proven value of dispute resolution beyond the legal industry and into the hands of everyday people and organizations, because it’s never too early to lean into a collaboration, and it’s never too late to mend a sour one.

Alec is an accomplished dispute resolution practitioner and published researcher with a history of working in nonprofits, operating his own business, and working for the federal government as a conciliator. He applies the same relationship-focused methods and mindset when working for clients as he does when supporting his own team.

He holds a Bachelor of Science in Conflict Resolution from Portland State University, along with certifications in Human Resources (SHRM-CP) and Project Management (PMP). A graduate of the McNair Scholars program and Maestro’s Entrepreneurship Accelerator, he is a co-chair for the Ombuds Committee for the American Bar Association Section of Dispute Resolution, a former board member for the Texas Association of Mediators, and a volunteer Long-Term Care Ombudsman for the State of Texas.

Disclaimer for Guest Contributions:

The views and opinions expressed in The Fed Up Features belong solely to the guest authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Fed Up or its founder. Guest contributions are provided for informational and creative purposes only and should not be taken as legal, professional, or official advice. The Fed Up does not assume responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or validity of any guest content, and publication does not constitute endorsement.

The world has watched in admiration as Minnesotans have organized, protested, and cared for each other in response to the fascist ICE takeover of their cities, resulting in the recent murders of two peaceful protestors and legal observers, Renee Good and Alex Pretti.

Minnesota can teach us a lot about how to continue to show up for each other with love, compassion, and nonviolence in spite of fear.

As an ode to the brave people of Minnesota, I wanted to share the five ways we can all fight fascism right now. (Yes, even you!) I created this guide through consolidating trusted sources, as well as using the information many of you shared with me in response to my inquiry for support.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

***Please note, the below list is not exhaustive. There are so many other wonderful resource guides circulating, but I wanted to do my best to share what I have learned and gathered with my own network. Please also do your due diligence before donating to or supporting any organization listed below.

1. Invest locally

Donate to trusted local mutual aid and legal aid efforts.

I had an old colleague respond to my inquiry for resources. She shared that so much of the resistance within Minnesota is hyper-local. Many non-profit groups are overwhelmed with support (which is great!), and are now recommending folks to donate to local mutual aid and legal aid efforts. I have listed a few below:

Mutual Aid in Minnesota:

• Stand With Minnesota

• Community Aid Network MN

• Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota

Mutual aid also exists where you are! I encourage you to do research to find what mutual aid groups exist and learn how you can best support those efforts.

Source: Vote Save America, “Support on the ground mutual aid” on Instagram

2. Spend strategically

Let your values guide where you spend.

Here in America money talks. Very few things move the needle quicker than affecting bottom lines. Right now, it is imperative we all do our best to spend strategically, which means not using out money at businesses that profit from and support ICE.

Below is a list of five corporations that 50501 says we should boycott right now. You can find a more comprehensive list at #BoycottCitizens.

• Amazon

• Target

• Home Depot

• Whole Foods

• Hilton Hotels

But, do not— I repeat— DO NOT let perfection be the enemy of good!

Try your best to buy from alternative sources, however, sometimes that may not be possible or feasible. However, if we all did our to spend LESS, these businesses will feel the impact.

(Scroll to the bottom for information on upcoming national strike on Jan. 30th.)

3. Advocate politically

Call your senator and demand they vote to defund ICE from now through Thursday.

This Friday, January 30th is the deadline for Congress to pass the next appropriations packages to fund the government. 60 votes are required to pass the bill which means Democrat votes are needed. The Senate plans to vote on Thursday.

Between now and then, call your senator and demand they do not support any bill that further funds ICE.

Unsure how to start? Feeling nervous on what to say? Don’t fret! 5calls is an excellent resource that helps you identify your representative and include a script to use when you do call. Grab a friend and make a call now!

4. Consume and share information responsibly

Find, follow, and engage with trusted sources.

Things are changing, and they are changing quickly. That‘s why it’s imperative that we consume and engage with trusted and verified media sources to prevent the spread of harmful and dangerous misinformation. This is even more critical in situations where there is a risk of escalating violence.

Below I have listed four steps you can take to verify the credibility of the information you are reading:

Source: “Evaluating Credibility in Social Media Posts,” Public Health Collaborative

1. Stop

Pause before you engage. When we are scrolling, it is so easy to like, comment, and share something before we have processed what we have read and if it’s reliable (I find myself doing this far too often!). Slowing down helps us take the necessary steps to determine if the source can be trusted.

2. Investigate the Source

Learn more about who is behind the post. Are reliable sources engaging with their content? Do the comments argue the information is not credible? When investigating a source, ask the following questions:

• What is their expertise?

• What cause are they promoting?

• Why are they posting it?

3. Corroborate the Source

Don’t rely on a single source. Do a quick search to see if other known and trustworthy sources are reporting the same information. Explore multiple perspectives of the claim. Consider:

• What are other sources saying?

• Is there additional evidence?

• Do other sources have more information about the claim?

4. Trace claims, quotes, and media to the original source

Social media is designed for engagement which means context may often be left out of a post. Ask yourself the following questions to ensure you have enough context to trust the claim or source:

• Could context be missing from a message, image, or video?

• Does the data support the headline or message?

• Can the information be traced back to its source?

Below I have listed in alphabetic order a few of my favorite social media accounts (beyond reputable news sources) that I trust for updated and verified information:

• 5calls.org (@5calls)

• Ana Mitchell, Civic Engagement Coach (@anafiredfed)

• Feds Work For You (@fedsworkforyou)

• Free DC (@freedcproject)

• Federal Unionists Network, DMV Hub (@fundmvhub)

• Jessica Craven (@jessicacraven101)

• (@lawyer_oyer)

• Vote Save America (@votesaveamerica)

5. Learn Proactively

Train (and train again) in updated non-violent training tactics and other organizing strategies.

One of the best things we all can do is to learn from Minnesota and ensure we are all trained in non-violent tactics and know our rights.

Heidi, a Substack user, responded to my request for resources and information. In her comment she said:

“…Lead and follow with compassion. Get trained in nonviolent tactics and attend training repeatedly to learn about the new tactics (national trainings have had 2,000+ people online learning from Chicago, LA, Minneapolis). Listen to music, hug your loved ones, talk to strangers. Show up. Remember that BIPOC people in America have experienced such traumas everyday… we need a national reconning on the long-term undercurrent and outright White Supremacy in this country and our backyards.”

You can read her full comment here.

Below is a list of organizations who have facilitated previous online nonviolent action trainings. Follow their accounts to get updates on upcoming trainings. I also encourage you to search for organizations who are leading and providing similar trainings locally.

• ACLU Nationwide: Know Your Rights

• No Kings Coalition: Eyes on Ice Document and Record Training (upcoming on 2/4/26). You can also watch the recording here.

• The King Center Nonviolence365 Training

• The Women’s March Ice Out Nonviolent Action Training

Upcoming Action for this Week:

(TONIGHT) Tue., January 27th (Online) Solidarity Mobilization Training

Sign up here.

Wed., January 28th (DC) Vigil for Alex Pretti

For folks in DC, the Federal Union Network (FUN) is hosting a vigil for Alex Pretti tomorrow, Wednesday, January 28th at the VA Headquarters (810 Vermont Ave, NW) at 5:30 pm. Please wear black and to bring candles, glow sticks, and/ or flowers.

Thursday, January 29th (DC) U.S. Senate Votes on Spending Bill

Call your Senator between now and Thursday to demand they vote no on any bill that further funds ICE.

Friday, January 30th (Nationwide) Strike

The Somali Student Association (@ssa.umn) has called for a nationwide strike on Friday, January 30th in protest of ICE terrorizing our communities.

No work. No school. No shopping.

Saturday, January 31st (Nationwide) Protest

Find local groups to find details of where and when a protest will be taking place near you.

It is easy to become hopeless, but then I look around and see so many brave, incredible, and yet, very normal people like Renee and Alex, like you and me, who decided to put themselves in harm’s way to protect their neighbors, to exercise our rights, to say no to fascism for a better, safer, and freer tomorrow.

Together, we will win, I have to believe that. Thank you for being here.

In solidarity,

Jordan

In this interview, I sit down with Corinne Hart, leadership coach and my dear friend, who shares what “trends” she predicts for the impacted federal worker this upcoming year.

As an ex-USAID fed, women’s leadership expert and now coach, Corinne has worked with over a hundred impacted feds (including me!) in 2025. She has her finger on the pulse on what this population is experiencing and what we can do in 2026 to help us get to where we want to go.

You can learn more and sign up for Corinne’s upcoming beach retreat here. If you are interested in group coaching or other services, you can reach out to Corinne directly at Corinne@hart-and-co.com.

Paid subcribers please enjoy the following reflection guide created by Corinne herself! If you are not yet a paid subscriber but want to become one, you can subscribe by using the button below:

Subscribe now

“Where is this email? I will reply ‘resign’ right now.”

This was my visceral reaction to hearing about DOGE’s buyout offer, AKA “The Fork in the Road.” When the email arrived, I hesitated. Twenty years of public service, thirteen as an FBI intelligence analyst, is no small thing to throw away, and all that glittered within the “buyout” was not gold.

Two weeks later, I walked into a meeting with the head of the Los Angeles Field Office. I held back tears as I told him I was leaving. I told him I lacked faith in the office’s leadership to guide us through the darkness ahead.

He sat there quiet and meaningless; a shape without form. He asked for more time; a gesture without motion. I left his office and immediately replied ‘resign.’

Four months later, that lack of faith was vindicated. I watched the news in horror as FBI Police placed a United States Senator in handcuffs just down the hall from where we’d met. Standing at the head of the room, silent and compliant, was the same hollow man who had failed me months earlier.

The decay didn’t start with the election. It didn’t start with the transition team’s data calls or the anticipatory dismantling of the Diversity and Inclusion program. For me, the realization that the Bureau was too fragile to survive started much earlier, in the quiet, persistent failure to protect its own employees from retribution—especially the women.

I know what you’re thinking. What does a 40-year-old white guy know about the plight of women in the workplace? Very little. But I know cowardice when I see it.

During the pandemic, my wife—also an FBI intelligence analyst—and I shared our jobs, each alternating in the office biweekly. We also shared a manager. At one point, management decided we needed to work weekends—not because the mission required it, but because they said so. When my wife pushed back, they dismissed her concerns; they told her they would talk to her husband, me, instead. They thought I would bring her in line. We laughed uncomfortably over their naivety, but the underlying assumption was dark.

As time went on, the laughter stopped. My wife, a fighter, tackled the casual disrespect head-on. But through her experiences, my eyes opened to the broader landscape.

It all came to a head in the summer of 2023, when I stumbled into a dispute between two probationary employees where the male employee was littering the conversation with blatant sexism. I tried to de-escalate. I failed. I went to the supervisor, expecting a quick correction. They refused to intervene. They were afraid of how it would look. They wanted to be “one of the boys.”

I watched as this supervisor admitted they had been rating a female employee unfairly compared with her male counterparts. I watched as legitimate complaints from women were met not with support, but with retaliation. I watched as the leadership structure protected the status quo rather than the people doing the work.

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That was the moment the illusion broke. I realized that if FBI leadership was afraid to rein in a probationary employee for fear of tarnishing their image, they would crumble instantly when faced with the genuine political pressure coming their way. And crumble they did.

By Election Day 2024, the writing was on the wall. When the transition team began peppering the FBI with data calls—looking for names, looking for non-citizens, looking for targets—the leadership that had failed the women in my office did exactly what I expected: they acquiesced.

The speed of the capitulation was breathtaking. The Bureau proactively closed its Diversity and Inclusion Office in December, doing the administration’s work for them before the inauguration even took place. The senior executives were clearly aware of what was coming. Then came the “Fork in the Road“ email.

While my colleagues speculated over the legitimacy of the buyout, I thought about the Deputy Attorney General’s demand for a list of employees who investigated the attack on the Capitol. I saw the newly sworn-in Attorney General stripping the Bureau of counterintelligence tools. I saw a lifetime of intelligence work being dismantled.

As the institution deteriorated, I recalled the departing words of a colleague years earlier. They felt like they could do more for the Bureau’s mission by not working there. I finally understood. My wife and I looked at our savings. We weighed the moral cost of staying. Just hours before a federal judge brought the first deferred resignation period to a halt, I walked into the hollow man’s office hoping for a reason to stay but expecting nothing.

He exceeded my expectations. He sat disinterested, unaware, and seemingly unbothered by the storm raging outside his door. I left his office, returned to my desk, and replied ‘resign.’

Since departing on March 3rd, the Bureau and the administration have consistently reassured me I made the right decision. No moment was more clarifying than June 12^th, as I watched Senator Alex Padilla detained and put in handcuffs by FBI Police for having the audacity to ask Kristi Noem a question during a press conference held in the FBI Los Angeles Field Office’s Luis Flores Conference Room. The hollow man stood by silent, a paralyzed force, headpiece filled with straw, leaning together amongst the rest of the hollow men.

His silence was deafening; the irony suffocating. Luis Flores was a Salvadoran immigrant who grew up in a tough Chicago neighborhood, earned a law degree, and became an FBI agent at 26. The room was named to honor his memory. Yet, in that very room, while the Secretary of Homeland Security spoke, a U.S. Senator was handcuffed, and the memory of Luis Flores was desecrated. I couldn’t help but wonder how many future Luis’s were being rounded up by the deportation agenda the Bureau was so enthusiastically assisting.

Beginning in mid-2024, I attempted to fight the misogyny through a series of escalating whistleblower complaints, ultimately spurring retaliation and an investigation by DOJ’s Office of Professional Responsibility. After inauguration, OPR was embroiled in their own struggle. I sought counsel, but the message was clear: in this brave new world, accountability was an obscene fantasy. Confirmation came when OPR closed my investigation on my birthday—a final, petty end, not with a bang but a whimper.

So be it. For the first time in years, I have my voice. I, too, can do more for the Bureau’s mission from the outside.

On October 1st, my wife and I launched Forking Off, a podcast where we interview former federal employees who recently left government service. We’re giving silenced voices a platform to be heard while capturing the oral history of the degradation of public service for future generations. In a year when over 300,000 employees left federal service, it can feel a bit like The Star Thrower—tossing one sea star at a time amidst the wreckage and debris of life. There is solace in knowing we’re taking an active role in our strained democracy rather than idly watching its destruction. Maybe we’ll even inspire a few more throwers to join us at the foot of the receding rainbow.

We’re also building Ravenwood Intelligence Cooperative. If the government won’t fulfill its role in the public-private partnership, then we’ll do it for them. We’re building a space where intelligence services are democratized, owned by the members, and driven by ethics and civic virtue rather than shareholders or political agendas.

If there was one element of the “Fork in the Road” that felt real, it was that two paths diverged. One—a sunlit path crowded with hollow men—laid out clearly what would be expected, and the reward granted the compliant traveler. The other, vacant, bent into the undergrowth of uncertainty. I knew there would be no turning back. That was fine by me. I took the one less traveled.

I’m tired of merely watching the destruction. It’s time to build something new.

Thank you for being here! If you enjoyed this essay, please consider supporting this work by subscribing to The Fed Up and sharing with someone you know. Your engagement helps others find this growing, brave, and very human community.

If you are interested in being a guest writer for The Fed Up Features, you can email me (Jordan) at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com. I look forward to collaborating!

Until next time,

Jordan

The Fed Up Tip Jar

Philip Fields is a former FBI intelligence analyst and Marine Corps veteran. For over a decade, he led offensive cyber operations and undercover dark web investigations to disrupt terrorist networks and state-sponsored threats. He resigned in 2025, after witnessing the erosion of institutional integrity from within. He is now the co-founder of Ravenwood Intelligence Cooperative, a decentralized intelligence firm, and the co-host of Forking Off, a podcast documenting the decline of the federal government.

Disclaimer for Guest Contributions:

The views and opinions expressed in The Fed Up Features belong solely to the guest authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Fed Up or its founder. Guest contributions are provided for informational and creative purposes only and should not be taken as legal, professional, or official advice. The Fed Up does not assume responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or validity of any guest content, and publication does not constitute endorsement.

The end of 2025 took me to the brink. There were many days in the past six weeks where I wondered how I would emotionally survive the next moment, and in many ways, I am still in that headspace.

Though prone to anxiety, it is rare where I feel depressed, but if I am being honest, I think I probably am a little depressed. I am feeling unmotivated, at times hopeless, questioning the why of it all.

I mean, aren’t we all?

If you are a subscriber to The Fed Up, you may have read my latest email, “2025, what a doozy.” And a doozy, it was.

In that email, I share that I have been struggling. My uncle died in November and shortly after my twin brother experienced a mental health crisis that required him to be hospitalized. Together, my family and I have worked endlessly to navigate system barrier after system barrier, all with the hope of getting him the best wraparound care that he deserves, so he can have his life back, so can get to know who he is again— the beautiful, brilliant, caring, lovable goofball that he is.

There were days I worried about my own mental stability. My biggest fear is always having a crisis of my own, adding another layer of heartbreak to the burden my parents already carry. Struggling with the thought that what if it’s always going to be like this— it can make the day-to-day feel meaningless, a futile effort.

I know I am not alone in that feeling. I think about how many people have also had that thought. Maybe you are having that thought. It can be debilitating. It can take us to scary and unknown places.

But, I am grateful that life has awarded me the perspective to know differently, that this too shall pass.

As I said in my email, I know this ebb will flow again. Because it always does.

And if you are also in the depths of your own despair, I hope that old adage can give you something to cling on to, too, even when it feels like it is always going to feel this way.

But I promise you it won’t.

Reflecting on 2025

But even in the depths of this heartbreak, I have been able to reflect on 2025 with a tenderness that has even surprised me.

Besides absolutely shredding me to pieces, 2025 actually wasn’t all bad. 2025 sucked (and it also didn’t) and it did give me a gift, a big gift, and that was the gift of getting to know me again (and it also gave me a wife! I love you so much!).

In 2025, I learned more about who I am today, and I began letting go of what I am no longer.

Even during the depths of my anger, sadness, grief of losing my federal career, through navigating the heartbreak and uncertainty of loving someone with serious mental illness (SMI), and even when it felt like 2025 had my heart in its hands— I remember turning to my wife and telling her that I couldn’t remember the last time I felt more like myself.

Connected. Bold. Curious. Feeling. Intuitive. Questioning.

And yet, being me and being you doesn’t mean life now gets to be easy, free of heartbreak, or lacking of all existential questioning. No, in some ways, I find that the more I turn up the frequency on who I am— this person, my humanity, this soul that is more than just a walking, talking bag of bones— life is actually filled with more, well, feeling.

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By being me, like authentically me, my life gains more depth, meaning, and purpose. I am not a wind up doll, walking robotically and aimlessly in circles. I can feel things. I find that I more rarely have to search externally for answers to validate who I am or tell me what I should be doing. Instead, I can go within, and I can trust the answers I find there.

And when I think about that, I think about my brother, and I realize what a gift it is, a privilege, even, a miracle, to get to be alive on this planet, to feel, to love, to yearn, to grieve, to get to ponder life’s biggest questions.

Even when it can be so so hard.

And yes, 2025 was really hard. It was hard individually, and it was gut-wrenching collectively. We are still in the midst of unprecedented uncertainty where the world feels more unpredictable and less safe than ever before. We have a President whose fascist dreams are coming to fruition. A corrupt Congress failing to check said President. Climate disasters are happening all around us. A genocide that rages on in Palestine. A continuing war between Ukraine and Russia persists, and a new war in Venezuela welcomed us into 2026. Greedy billionaires (and a soon to be trillionaire?) are using their privilege and power to perpetuate inequity, conflict, and strife.

So much unnecessary suffering, so many lives lost, so much to rip us wide open.

And it should. Because being me doesn’t protect me from feeling these realities, in fact, it makes me more prone to giving a shit, I think.

But 2025 gave me more space to live intentionally, to know what matters to me (and what doesn’t), and to also know I have the resilience to wake up everyday, put one foot in front of the other, and somehow some way find purpose and meaning and gratitude through it all.

Trusting and surrendering

I have committed 2026 to be the year to trust and surrender. I have spent a lot of emotional energy concocting a plan b, plan c, and plan d for events in my life that never happened, as my inventive imagination can create whole stories, plot twists, and characters in worlds that may never exist.

Yes, I am a certified control freak. And yes, I have been to therapy.

I don’t let my wife drive. I like to make the bed in a certain way. I have a hard time rolling with the punches if things don’t go to plan. I want to be the cool, nonchalant girl, but I am not. And I have no plans to become her in 2026.

But I do plan to let go a little bit. To trust that it is all going to work out. That I will land on my feet. That we will end up where we should. That this pain can become purpose. And with each day I can find more comfort and confidence sitting in and owning that purpose.

My wish for you is maybe a little bit of the same. Forget becoming a new, shinier you. I hope you get the gift of you— the real, been-through-some-shit-and-now-understands-some-things you— the gift of space for getting to know who you are now after everything 2025 took you through.

Whether it was losing a career that was an identity or a relationship or something else, my hope is that that pain can bring you closer to you.

Closer to your values.

Closer to your goals and dreams.

Closer to the relationships the matter (and less close with those that don’t).

Closer to the perspective that can keep pushing you forward when things feel unbearable.

Closer to whatever is true for you.

In 2025, The Fed Up community has brought me closer to all of these things, and I am so grateful to each of you for being a part of that, for helping me get to know me again. Thank you for being here, for supporting this work. I look forward to continuing to build a bold, honest, and very human community with you in 2026.

With trust,

Jordan

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I recently learned that 2025 was the year of the snake, or in other words, the year of shedding.

When I learned this, I laughed. Of course it is. I thought. Now everything makes so much more sense.

It seems like everyone I am talking to right now has stories of leaving, losing, or letting go of something or somethings this year, whether it be by choice or not: careers, relationships, identities, bad haircuts… If you know my story, I feel like that’s all I have been doing this year.

If it is no longer aligned to your highest purpose, you are being asked to say hasta la vista, baby. Sayonara sucker. Whether you are ready to or not.

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And as we know, shedding is no simple process. I mean, you can just ask a snake. For them, it takes several days to shed their old skin to reveal their new shiny fit beneath. That takes work and patience! But even though the process of shedding may be uncomfortable, troublesome, gross even???, snakes shed their skin to get rid of the yuck and make room for that good growth underneath.

They’re letting go of what no longer serves them.

For this week’s journaling prompts, I encourage you to tap into your inner snake like this guy (there was nothing funnier on the internet when I was 14), and see where that gets you:

Journal Prompts:

Take 5- 10 minutes to reflect and write on these questions. If open, please consider sharing some of your reflections in the comments.

With the year of the snake in mind, reflect on the following questions:

• What have you shed (or are shedding) this past year? If you were to describe this process, what emotions would come up? Where do you feel it in your body?

• Where do you feel resistance (if any) in the letting go? Dig deeper into that resistance. What do you fear will happen if you allow the shedding process to take place? How would it feel to let go of the resistance and replace it with surrender?

• Fear can be an invitation for growth. What has this shedding already taught you about yourself? About what you want and don’t want for this next chapter?

• What do you need to nurture to give yourself space to mourn what’s been lost while also making room for what’s underneath? Is there a beloved ritual that could help you do this?

Thank you for being here.

If this post resonated with you, please consider supporting The Fed Up by becoming a free or paid subscriber, and sharing it with a friend who may find this exercise helpful. Your engagement helps grow this brave and expansive community.

Sssssssss (that’s “until next time” in snake),

Jordan

It was 3:00 p.m. on Friday, Valentine’s Day, 2025. Tears slid down my face as I sat alone in my home office. The entire staff at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) Office of AIDS Research was on Zoom, listening to one of our colleagues play an original song on piano.

“I wrote this to help get through the hard times in life,” he’d told us before he began. Cameras started switching off. I could only assume other people were tearing up too.

We’d all just said our goodbyes. Trump’s decision to fire all federal probationary employees—everyone who’d been a fed for less than a year (or, for people like me hired on Schedule A, two years)—had come down. Those employees would be officially terminated on February 14.

Nearly a dozen people from our small office were on that list, all energized to help educate the public about, treat, and prevent the spread of HIV. Most came from our policy and communications team—the team responsible for writing reports to Congress, external relations with the HIV community and advocates, and justifying HIV research funding.

The weeks leading up to that day—and every day since Trump’s inauguration and the launch of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE)—had been a whirlwind of panic and dread. Each day held a new horror: a memo or late-night email from the Office of Management and Budget, quickly taken over by DOGE staffers.

“[A]gencies should identify all employees on probationary periods… and send a report to OPM listing all such employees… In addition, agencies should promptly determine whether those employees should be retained at the agency.”

“Take down all outward facing media (websites, social media accounts, etc.) of DEIA”

“[E]ach agency…shall take action to terminate all DEI, DEIA, and “environmental justice” offices and positions within sixty days.”

“[A]ll employees whose position description involves inculcating or promoting gender ideology are being placed on paid administrative leave effective immediately.”

“If you wish to resign, Type the word ‘Resign’ into the body of this reply email. Hit ‘Send.’

As an office in charge of funding for HIV—a disease that disproportionately affects gay men, trans women, and people of color—we had reason to worry. Would our entire office close as part of Trump’s crackdown on ‘DEI’? Would our support of trans people mark us as an office “inoculating gender ideology?”

These questions flew around for weeks as we tried to parse the flurry of memos. Eventually, we learned the office at large would survive, but individuals, programs, and even words on our websites were subject to major scrutiny.

One of the last things my team had to do before many of us were fired was comb through our website and delete mentions of “DEI” words. The list seemed to grow by the day":

As a queer person, it was heartbreaking work. Luckily, my colleagues shielded me from having to do much of it.

That Valentine’s Day, we said our goodbyes. Around 7 p.m. the next night, I received my termination notice via email. “Poor performance” was the reasoning in all of the identical letters sent to me and my colleagues—nevermind that most of us had scored 4 or 5 out of 5 on our annual reviews. Nearly all of the people in my 2025 invitation-only NIH leadership cohort were fired for poor performance as well.

A judge recently ruled that my colleagues’ and my firing was illegal. Cool! But will anything be done to our benefit? No, most definitely not.

If you’re reading this, you probably either know me personally or are familiar with the plight of tens of thousands of federal employees over the last year. It’s been rough, but some things have changed.

Eventually, I stopped spiraling and started doing.

I made the conscious decision to take my new “time off” as an opportunity to recommit to my creative projects. The economy and job market were horrible, so why not go after my dreams?

Sure, my career was ending. But my creative life was just beginning.

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As a kid—after getting over my astronaut and firefighter phases—my dream job was always to be an author. I put that dream aside for a more “stable” career and studied journalism instead (lol). I moved on to the NIH, which I loved for different reasons: I felt like I was making a difference in my community, and I’ll always be passionate about public health communications.

But after getting fired, I pivoted:

I started my substack, where I write about the intersection of identity, creativity, and the human experience.

I formed an LLC and started applying for freelance writing and editing gigs.

I booked my first memoir editing job.

I applied for and got into an amazing Novel Year course—I wanted to finally invest in myself as an author instead of making the same “I’ll finish my book this year!” resolution since 2022. With the help of its deadlines and my classmates’ feedback, I’m on track to actually finish my dual-narrative, multi-generational, queer coming-of-age novel this year.

The first draft of that book won me a spot at my first writing retreat in January.

I think I can feel my inner child healing a little bit every day. My world is reading books, editing books, writing books. Am I making up my former federal salary? Not even close. But for the first time in years, I’m living the life I actually want.

Turns out getting illegally fired was the permission slip I’d been waiting for. If you’re one of the tens of thousands of us who got fired, maybe this is your chance too

Thank you for being here! If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to The Fed Up, and sharing with someone you know. Your engagement helps others find this growing community.

If you are interested in being a guest writer for The Fed Up Features, you can email me (Jordan) at jordan@thefedupcommunity.com. I look forward to collaborating!

Until next time,

Jordan

Ashley Hackett (she/her) is a former federal employee and current freelance writer & editor. She publishes , a (mostly) weekly Substack about the stories that tie us all together. Her debut novel, a multi-generational queer coming-of-age story that spans Argentina and the U.S., is currently in progress.

Disclaimer for Guest Contributions:

The views and opinions expressed in The Fed Up Features belong solely to the guest authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Fed Up or its founder. Guest contributions are provided for informational and creative purposes only and should not be taken as legal, professional, or official advice. The Fed Up does not assume responsibility for the accuracy, completeness, or validity of any guest content, and publication does not constitute endorsement.

Right now, I am living in the space between when one things ends and before something else begins. I feel like I am a plane that’s been diverted, waiting for the air traffic controller to tell me where I am going.

I know (and trust) I soon I will land, but where and when has not yet been determined or revealed.

These liminal spaces can be hard, especially for people like me who love control and live by a plan. But I also know that this period, these thresholds, can be sooooooo ripe for growth and opportunity, if we learn to sit in it, if we learn how to work with it opposed to against it.

I keep saying that this period feels like a test from the Universe. It is asking me to trust myself and my inner knowing, even when the path in front of me is not yet clearly defined.

And I know I am not alone in this feeling. So many people are in periods of shedding— shedding careers, relationships, identities, and wondering what comes next.

In this week’s The Fed Up Lifts, I highlight three things that have helped me stay present, grounded, and inspired this month while I sit in this liminal space. I hope it can help you too.

on NPR’s Wild Card Podcast

Feeling a little consumed by self-doubt while traversing through this liminal space, I decided to ask ChatGPT to help me find expanders— or in other words, people whose stories and paths can be a source of inspiration and motivation, whose stories can help me affirm my own.

Suleika Jaouad was the first on the list. So I decided to dig deeper and was delighted by who I found.

In her twenties, Suleika Jaouad documented living with a cancer diagnosis in the New York Times column and video series, “Life, Interrupted”. She is also the creator of , a newsletter Jaouad created during the pandemic to help people transform life’s interruptions into creative moments and community. And now, she is the author to two books— “Between Two Kingdoms”, a memoir about living a different life than she planned to live, and just recently, she launched, “The Book of Alchemy: A Creative Practice for an Inspired Life”.

So when I went to the gym and when a recent episode of Wild Card featuring Suleika showed up on my discover page, I knew I needed to listen.

In that interview, Jaouad reflects on something she inherited from her mother. She says,

“… She (her mom) gave me charcoal and encouraged me to make as big of a mess as possible.

And she’s someone who really doesn’t believe in mistakes in creative work. She’s someone who always says, like, whenever you think it’s bad, that’s actually where the energy is. Keep moving deeper into that.

So, that’s a lesson that I’ve carried with me from childhood until now. And that sense of freedom to make a big glorious mess in my creative work, to try new things is something that I consciously try to emulate.”

This reflection struck me. What if we thought of our lives as our greatest creative project, and what would happen if we applied this same lesson to our messy parts?

Consider this: Where does your life feel the messiest? Like an art project, where is there opportunity to transform this mess into something beautiful? What fear is this mess asking you to walk through?

You can find more weekly journal prompts in my section, True North: Weekly Reflections.

Getting clear on who I am

Over the last seven months, I committed myself to getting to know who I am again. For a long time, I had felt disconnected from my authenticity— my voice, my intuition, my sense of self.

I was lacking intentionality in my life. My decisions felt automatic and not my own.

Days after deciding to take the fork, I happened upon the program To Be Magnetic, a structured manifestation program rooted in neuroscience (hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it!). TBM helps people first and foremost reconnect with their inner knowing and authentic selves. My favorite part of the program includes the Deep Imagining visualizations and meditations, accompanied by supportive journaling prompts.

Through doing the deep inner work, getting clear on who I am and what I want has been energizing, affirming, and motivating. Specifically, TBM offers an exercise on discovering your authentic code*, or the values in your life that matter most. Now, whenever I am making a decision, I use these pillars as a filter to ensure the choices I am making are in alignment with my authenticity.

Below I have copied a sample of the journal prompts from the exercise to get you started. For each question, list your top four answers. To get the most out of the exercise, be as honest as you can. If you are interested in accessing the complete activity and program, you can sign up for TBM here:

• What do you spend most of your time on? In your natural habitat, when nobody is watching, in your day-to-day life?

• Think of your ideal day. What things would be included to bring you the most joy?

• What do you spend most of your time thinking about? When you find yourself in a moment of stillness, what subjects come to mind?

You can listen to the TBM podcast, “Expanded” for free here:

*This TBM exercise has been adapted from Dr. Demartini’s Value Determination Exercise.

Being where my feet are

Last week, I was having a conversation with my wife, crying (yes, I cry a lot, okay!) with overwhelm as we navigate figuring out what’s next for us. Feeling that one beloved chapter is coming to an end, and not yet sure what will come of the next.

In my previous job, I played many roles including project manager. I was responsible for managing projects from inception to implementation. Doing is my my most natural state-of-being. I show love through acts of service, and I manage my anxiety by living and dying by my calendar.

But right now, my impulse to do, to plan, to fix is not helpful because, honestly, we don’t have enough information to make certain decisions right now. And spinning in the frenetic energy of the what-ifs and contingency planning is not productive, its anxiety-inducing.

So once again, I am being asked to wait, to be patient in this holding pattern, and to just be, to trust.

My wife in her thoughtful and wise reflection offered that maybe the best thing we can do right now is not be planning for every potential path forward, no need to write yet another pros and cons list, but to instead find joy in this in-between-space by spending time with the people we love, frequenting our favorite D.C. haunts, saying “yes” to invites even when we might miss our 8:30 pm bedtime.

She said we should be where our feet are.

And I think she is right.

Thank you for being a part of The Fed Up. If you enjoyed this post, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. And share it with someone who may also enjoy it, too! Your engagement helps support and sustain this growing community.

You can learn more about The Fed Up, including upcoming workshops and events on my website. I am currently working on crafting new offerings for 20261

And if there is something you would like to see from The Fed Up, please let me know! Your input is so very valuable.

With joy,

Jordan

You may have heard – we are in a Mercury retrograde traveling through both Scorpio and Sagittarius from November 6th through November 27th.

GASP

But don’t panic. Mercury retrogrades often get a bad rap. And although life can feel a little more challenging and stickier during these astrological positioning, a retrograde, really, is just asking us to slow down, look back, and clean house. And this retrograde specifically is asking us to look back on the stories we tell ourselves and decide if those stories still are true or they need to be rewritten.

It is an invitation to uncover our truth and to find clarity.

Whether you buy into the retrograde hysteria or not (it is okay if you don’t, you are still welcome here!), I think it is always wise to find time to pause-and-reflect. The cooler weather and darker nights can help us do this.

These past seven months since leaving my federal career have felt like more seven years of growth and transformation. I took the leap to start The Fed Up which has exposed every limiting belief, self-doubt, and fear that was hidden in my psyche.

I’ve dealt with imposter syndrome: “I am not a writer.”

I‘ve been overcome with self-doubt: “Are my dreams even realistic?”

I’ve confronted paralyzing perfectionism: “If I make mistakes, then I am not good enough.”

As I reflect back, I am choosing to rewrite those stories that no longer feel aligned, as I am gaining clarity on my truth: who I want to be and what I want to focus on as I move forward.

Here are a few prompts that can help you begin to uncover what’s now true for you, too:

Journal Prompts:

Take 5- 10 minutes to reflect and write on these questions. If open, please consider sharing some of your reflections in the comments.

Think about this past year and a story you’ve told yourself. This could be a story about your career, your identity, what is or isn’t possible. I encourage you to focus on something that have taken up space in your thoughts and feelings.

• What part of that story still feels true, and what part of that story do you want to rewrite? Why?

• Where has your voice felt silenced this past year? How would it feel to reclaim your voice and share the story that needs to be shared? Write down the true thing you’ve thought but have not shared.

• What lessons can my past self teach my future, wiser, more aligned self?

Thank you for being here.

If this post resonated with you, please consider supporting this work by becoming a free or paid subscriber. As a paid subscriber, you get access to exclusive content, as well as 40% off workshops and events, including my upcoming workshop, “An Inside Job: Writing Your (True) Story and Why That Matters”.

You can learn more and register here: “An Inside Job: Writing Your (True) Story and Why That Matters”

I hope to see you there!

Jordan

Entering the race with less than 1% support, was able to build a grassroots campaign that — against all odds — delivered a decisive victory for the mayoral seat of New York City.

Young. Brown. Muslim. A socialist democrat.

Mamdani represented everything the establishment is not– something new, hopeful, and actually progressive: By showing up. By listening. By validating the experiences of everyday New Yorkers. By being a vision holder for something actionable, tangible, accessible, and wholehearted:

“Running to freeze the rent, make buses fast + free, and deliver universal childcare.”

I don’t care where your politics fall on the spectrum. If you have a heart, you can’t engage with this story and not be moved, not find inspiration, not respect what Mamdani and his campaign were able to accomplish, and what they were able to inspire.

In his viral victory speech, Mamdani said,

“The sun may have set over our city this evening, but as Eugene Debs once said: “I can see the dawn of a better day for humanity…

Fingers bruised from lifting boxes on the warehouse floor, palms calloused from delivery bike handlebars, knuckles scarred with kitchen burns: these are not hands that have been allowed to hold power. And yet, over the last 12 months, you have dared to reach for something greater

Tonight, against all odds, we have grasped it. The future is in our hands. My friends, we have toppled a political dynasty…

Let the words we’ve spoken together, the dreams we’ve dreamt together, become the agenda we deliver together. New York, this power, it’s yours. This city belongs to you.”

Mamdani delivered a hope like gunpowder– heartless, hopeless, play-it-safe leadership be damned.

Hope and the Will to Fight

When I was getting my Master’s in Peace and Conflict studies, I remember learning about the “will to fight” theory. The theory posits that smaller militaries can still succeed against larger militaries when they have a greater “will to fight.”

The American military argues that the “will to fight” is the single most important factor in waging and winning wars.

I have remained fascinated and inspired by this theory ever since.

The “will to fight” can be defined as the many things that motivate someone to fight and to keep fighting, even when the odds are stacked against them. There are many things that can motivate an individual to fight: protecting a value, defending a way of life, envisioning a better future, anger, and so much more.

But when I distill this list of motivations into a throughline, I see hope.

The key to successful resistance is finding and fighting for the hope in the what-can-be, hope in the what-is-possible. When we have lost hope, we have nothing to fight for, and thus, we have already lost the war.

Zohran Mandani’s campaign tapped into New Yorkers’ will-to-fight. Over $22 million was spent on anti-Mamdani messaging, yet he still prevailed. Like David and Goliath, he toppled the Cuomo political dynasty.

How? By giving voters something to believe in, something to fight for. By giving them hope in the possibility of something new.

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Choosing “Defiant Hope”

Fascism thrives on our anxiety, our fear, our despair. When we are hopeless, it will grow, further divide, and ultimately, win.

, author of newsletter outlines strategies to push back against authoritarian burnout in his essay, “Trump Wants You to Give Up — Do This Instead.” Specifically, he urges us to consider choosing “defiant hope.” He says,

“Hope says: You don’t get to decide what futures are possible. You don’t get to tell me that nothing can change.

This kind of hope is a decision you make in the face of authoritarian aggression. A wager that acting as if change is possible creates openings they cannot fully control.

Hope keeps the field of possibility alive. Without it, you shrink into reaction or resignation. With it, you hold space for futures that authoritarians are desperate to erase.”

So as an act of resistance, I encourage you to consider what gives you hope, what is worth fighting for? Try this exercise Paul provides for us:

Write one sentence that begins, “Even now, I believe…” Put words to a possibility you refuse to abandon. Share it with someone. It doesn’t have to be lofty. It only has to remind you that your agency is still real and that despair is not the only option.

To learn more about how to stay strategically human while under authoritarian pressure, subscribe to Paul’s newsletter here:

Progressive Strategy Now

Strategies, insight, and inspiration for people living and leading in authoritarian times.

By Paul T Shattuck, MSW, PhD

What Dems Can and Should Learn from Mamdani’s Victory

The night of Mamdani’s win, analysts were quick to caution people from drawing sweeping conclusions on how democrats could map on what Mamdani did to win to their own campaigns.

They were so quick to say, “Oh but New York is not like everywhere else.”

Yes, sure, okay, but if your first knee-jerk reaction to witnessing something so outstanding is to temper excitement, to tell people to be cautious, to tread on hope, well, with all due respect, please just don’t. You are missing the point. You are not seeing the forest through the trees.

We don’t need anymore of the guy-in-the-classroom-who-always-wants-to-play- devil’s-advocate energy.

And yes, although we want to recognize the unique nuance of each voting block across the United States, I do wonder though if perhaps we are making all of this a lot more complicated then it needs to be. Perhaps analysts are over analyzing, and missing what is so obviously right in front of us.

It doesn’t take a PhD to see people are desperate for something hopeful.

So I say to democrats: if actionable, tangible, accessible, wholehearted hope is not at the core of what you are selling, I don’t want it.

Mamdani now has the hard work of delivering on the hope he sold us, but I can say, he has already tapped into something the democrats have collectively failed to do time and time again.

Chuck Schumer, are you listening yet?

Thank you for being here.

At The Fed Up, I help the pushed out and pissed off federal worker reconnect with their voice. With hope. In community. For democracy. Because authoritarianism thrives on our fear and in our silence.

If this post resonated with you, please consider supporting this work by becoming a free or paid subscriber. Sharing this post also helps others find this growing and brave community.

Learn more about The Fed Up and sign-up for my upcoming virtual workshop, “An Inside Job: Writing Your (True) Story and Why That Matters”. Paid subscribers get 40% off registration!

Let’s say the true thing out loud, together.

With hope,
Jordan

To support The Fed Up’s mission to help you connect with and use your voice during this season of shedding, each week I will share a brief reflection and journaling prompt to guide you back to your own inner compass—your true north.

Today, I reflect on hope-

If this video resonated, please consider restacking and sharing. If you are not yet a member of of The Fed Up community, I welcome you warmly and gratefully! You can subscribe free of paid.

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Journal Prompt:

Take 5- 10 minutes to reflect and write on this question. If open, please consider sharing some of your reflections in the comments.

Think about a time where you felt abundantly hopeful.

• How did it feel in your body and in your mind?

• What did it motivate you to do? What felt possible?

• How is hope showing up for you today? What is one thing you can do to nurture it?

Thank you for being here.

With hope,
Jordan