Words by Freya Bennett // Photo by Manuel Salinas
There’s food in my fridge, a toddler on my lap, and a lump in my throat. I’m scrolling through stories of famine and war — Gaza, Sudan, Haiti — and the grief aches through my body. I look down at my daughter, happily eating a whole packet of blackberries, and wonder how many mothers are out there today with nothing left to give. No milk. No bread. No safety. No way out. I can’t imagine the fear, the heartbreak, the grief and the utter helplessness these families must be feeling as they watch their children experience what no child (or human) should ever have to experience.
How are we meant to hold all this?
How do we stay soft in a world that keeps breaking?
This isn’t a how-to-fix-it guide. I don’t have that kind of power. Though I will endevour to share links and actions that may help (you can send this template to your local MP).
This is a guide for the feelers. The ones who cry while stirring soup. The ones who can’t look away — but also can’t look too long without crumbling.
If your heart is heavy and your body tired, this is for you:
Help Where You Can
You can’t feed everyone. But you can help.
• Donate what you can, even if it’s just $5.
UNICEF are helping feed in children in many countries including Gaza, Sudan and South Sudan.
Médecins Sans Frontières are bringing medical care to many regions that need it but particularly and most desperately, Gaza.
Closer to home you can support Foodbank Australia, the largest hunger relief charity in Australia. They partner with Aboriginal community-controlled organisations to deliver food in remote and regional areas.
Red Dust run community-led health and wellbeing programs in remote Aboriginal communities, often integrating nutrition and food access support.
• Drop off dinner to a new mum or someone going through tough times.
• Support local food banks or drives in your community.
You don’t need a million dollars to make a dent. You just need to show up with what you’ve got.
Make Food Sacred
Even toast can be holy.
Light a candle. Put on soft music. Say a little “thank you” — not in guilt, but in reverence.
Gratitude doesn’t fix injustice, but it honours what should be a right, not a privilege.
Let Grief Sit at the Table
You are not too sensitive. You’re not too much. You’re just awake.
Let the tears come. Let your sadness live beside your parenting and your work and your morning coffee. There is room for it. It’s part of love.
But remember too—you don’t have to carry it all at once. It’s okay to pause, to rest, to protect your energy. Your children need your steadiness more than your sorrow, and the world needs you well if you’re going to help at all. Feel it fully, but also allow yourself to step back so you can look after your loved ones and yourself.
Don’t Look Away — But Do Look Inward
It’s okay to log off. You are not required to consume endless suffering to prove you care.
Stay informed, yes — but pace yourself. Tend to your own body. Touch the grass. Look after your needs and your loved ones needs. Then come back with steadier hands.
Teach Softness
If you have little ones, show them what caring looks like.
Tell them everyone deserves food and safety. Let them help you pack a donation box or bake banana bread for a neighbour. Let them see you cry. Let them see you act.
But protect their tender hearts—they don’t need to carry the heaviness to understand kindness. Let them feel safe while they learn to care.
Final thoughts:
You are allowed to be heartbroken.
You are allowed to feel helpless.
Your grief is not useless. It’s a map back to your humanity.
Keep that tenderness safe.
