Why Nihilism Is Hurting Our Deathcare Communities

We’re living in a time when so many of us feel stretched thin — caregivers, hospice volunteers, end-of-life doulas, clergy, friends, and family members trying to hold one another up through it all.
The world feels loud, fractured, and sometimes hopeless. And beneath that noise, I’ve noticed a quieter, more dangerous trend making its way into our deathcare communities: nihilism.
Before I explain what I mean, I want to start with a story.

A Queen, a Craft Coven, and a Costume Emergency

This fall, my daughter Little Bit decided she wanted to be the queen she met at a Renaissance Fair — specifically, a queen with a big, puffy dress that touched the floor.
Challenge accepted.
Except…the challenge arrived quickly.
I followed a YouTube sewing tutorial to the letter — only to discover I’d cut the waist far too narrow. I had enough fabric to start over, but not enough to make my younger child, Sprout, the coordinating costume I’d promised.
Here’s where my village came in.
I was hosting my local Craft Coven that night — a group of friends who gather to snack, chat, and make things together. My friend Christine, a much more experienced seamstress, took one look and said, “I’ve got it.”
Within five minutes, she figured out how to fix my mistake. Ten minutes later, the dress was back on track — while new guests were arriving and the kids were tearing around the house in full, joyful chaos.
That night reminded me of something essential:
Community is vital.
For laughter. For problem-solving. For practical and emotional support.
Not just for the lighthearted moments like Halloween costumes, but for times when someone needs meals after surgery, or when a pipe bursts at 10 p.m., or when a family is facing the overwhelming logistics of end-of-life care.
We need each other.

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When It Feels Like Nothing Matters

And yet, it’s easy to forget that.
Politics feel broken. Institutions feel untrustworthy. Neighbors argue on Front Porch Forum about everything from yard signs to vaccines.
Underneath it all, there’s a growing sense of resignation — a collective shrug.
That shrug has a name: nihilism.

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Defining Nihilism

Philosophically, nihilism is the belief that life is meaningless — that nothing we do really matters.
In daily life, it sounds like:

• “Why bother voting? It won’t change anything.”
  
• “People never change.”
  
• “They’re too far gone — there’s no point talking to them.”
  

When enough people start thinking this way, communities begin to fracture.
It’s not just about politics. It’s the erosion of trust, empathy, and shared purpose — the very things that sustain compassionate end-of-life care.
In the deathcare community, nihilism shows up when we start to believe our actions don’t matter — that one conversation with a grieving family won’t make a difference, that one volunteer shift won’t matter, that the system is too broken to fix.

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The Temptation to Give Up

Maybe you care deeply about something — healthcare equality, less government regulation, climate justice, end-of-life choice.
You show up. You talk with neighbors, coworkers, or your adult kids. You share facts, stories, and data.
And then you hit a wall.
You realize there are people who just aren’t going to budge. So you double down, push harder, and get more frustrated. When that doesn’t work, the quiet voice creeps in:
“See? I tried. Nothing changes. What’s the point?”
That’s how nihilism seeps in — not as apathy, but as exhaustion disguised as certainty.
This is especially dangerous in the world of end-of-life care, where burnout and moral distress are already high. If we let nihilism take root, we lose the compassion and patience needed to stay connected — to our clients, our colleagues, and ourselves.

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Connection as an Antidote

Communities don’t grow through conversion — they grow through connection.
Like tending a garden, not every patch of soil is ready for seeds. Some people’s “soil” — their life experience, fears, or worldview — just isn’t soft enough yet. That doesn’t mean you never plant. It means you pick your moment.
In the meantime, we can still share warmth and care. Talk about our kids. The food at the potluck. How hard it is to be human right now.
Every genuine connection is a quiet act of resistance against nihilism.
It says, “You still matter to me, even if we see the world differently.”
For those of us working in the deathcare community, that message matters deeply. It’s what allows us to keep showing up — for clients nearing death, for families deep in grief, for one another when the work feels heavy.

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Building Sustainable Communities

You might be thinking, we don’t have time for endless conversations.
And you’re right — the stakes are high. Families can’t afford food or healthcare. People are dying of preventable causes.
We need direct action too.
But sustainable community building — especially in end-of-life care — requires both:

• The immediate push for change, and
  
• The slow, patient tending of relationships.
  

When we rely only on righteous anger or cleverness, we build movements that are loud but fragile.
We can’t snark or shame our way into community.
We can’t make people feel small and expect them to want to stand beside us.

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A Different Way Forward

For the people we already love — friends, cousins, longtime neighbors — maybe the invitation is smaller and slower.
Keep showing up.
Keep talking, gently, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Build relationships strong enough that your differences don’t become walls.
That’s how we start to undo the cultural pull toward nihilism — not by proving we’re right, but by reminding one another that connection is still possible.
For those of us in the deathcare community, that’s our deepest calling: to help people remember that care, empathy, and belonging still matter, even — and especially — when life feels fragile.

Your Turn

I’ve been thinking a lot about how connection grows from small, everyday moments.
What’s one way you’ve offered or received support in your community lately — something that reminded you that people still care?
Share your story with me in the comments, or reach out directly at doulacarefordying.com.
Because every act of connection, no matter how small, helps hold our communities — and one another — together.