A psychologist’s guide to helping families process school threats, public violence, political polarization, and collective grief.
Yesterday, my high school sophomores came home around 5 PM after the bus dropped them off. I had last seen them eight hours earlier, once we received notice that the shooter at the park next to their school had been apprehended and the two-hour shelter-in-place order was lifted. It had already been a heavy local news day, and between clients I hadn’t checked national updates.
“Mom, did you hear? Charlie Kirk was assassinated today!” my son said, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. I paused my work and turned toward him.
“No, I hadn’t heard. I don’t know who Charlie Kirk was.”
“I don’t either, but kids were talking about it at school.”
So we opened my laptop and began reading. I learned quickly that his worldview differed from mine. His vision of what our country needs was not aligned with my own.
And yet—he did not deserve to die, and he certainly didn’t deserve to die in the manner he did. His children did not deserve to lose their father. He deserved to watch them grow up. The students and audience members didn’t deserve to witness violence or fear for their own safety. And our country does not deserve another chapter of senseless public violence.
Nor did the students, faculty, and staff of Evergreen High School in Colorado deserve what they endured yesterday. Nor the police officer and second person injured at Zilker Park here in Austin. And the victims, survivors, and loved ones impacted by 9/11 deserved far better than the legacy of trauma we still carry.
There have been too many of these conversations—with our children, with our clients, and with one another. I’ve written before about talking to kids about tragedy, practicing self-compassion during hard times, and coping with political stress and uncertainty.
How to Talk to Kids about Tragedy
Fellow travelers, conversations like this are never easy. When my children asked about what happened to Charlie Kirk—and about the violent events unfolding around them—I found myself searching for language that was honest, grounding, and developmentally appropriate. Here are the key points I used to help them process the news with compassion and clarity.
1. Disagree passionately if you must—but never violently, and never without respect.
Regardless of whether Mr. Kirk’s beliefs aligned with ours or differed sharply, he was a human being living his own life journey. His journey ended too soon and in a terrifying way. We are strong enough to hold disagreement and grief. Always hold the “and.”
2. Yes, our country feels divided—but seek the shared threads.
Finding common ground can feel nearly impossible. But connection often begins with small truths: I am certain Mr. Kirk loved his children as fiercely as I love mine. I am sad he will not see their first days of school or the unfolding of adolescence and adulthood.
3. Spend your emotional energy wisely.
When people or messages promote “us versus them,” choose carefully how much time and attention you offer. Healthy, solution-seeking individuals understand that we are stronger when we stand beside each other and learn across differences.
4. Make space for your feelings—and then keep moving toward your life.
Acknowledge fear, grief, and worry. Let your body and mind name what hurts. And then find one small action that nudges you toward your values, goals, and potential. Healing is movement.
5. Guard your heart against bitterness and resentment.
They are understandable grief responses during times of trauma and uncertainty—but they crowd out hope. Bitterness squeezes optimism out of the corners where it’s trying to grow.
6. Stay informed, but limit your media exposure.
Once you understand the facts, turn off your devices. Return to your “right-now” life. Nature helps—its rhythms remind us that everything has a cycle and that we belong to something larger than this moment of fear, anger, or sorrow.
Fellow travelers, we are living a story still in development—a roller coaster with unexpected rises and sudden drops. Today felt like a drop day. It was sunny and comfortable here in Austin, yet everything felt gray as we processed yesterday’s events and honored the lives lost or forever changed on September 11, 2001.
I was living in Los Angeles on 9/11. I had just finished my postdoctoral fellowship. I remember a crowd of us huddled around a small TV in the clinic manager’s office, trying to absorb an unthinkable reality. I remember the emergency staff meeting where we prepared to help traumatized clients navigate powerful waves of fear and grief.
That evening, I returned home to my apartment, where my cocker spaniel Cassidy greeted me with her usual joy—unburdened by the responsibilities of being an adult human. After a long day of holding other people’s pain alongside my own, I nearly shortened our nightly walk, but I’m grateful I didn’t. At the park, a group had gathered for a candlelight vigil. The U.S. flag flew above us. Despite our everyday divisions, strangers stood shoulder to shoulder in collective grief, reminding one another that unity—however imperfect—was still possible.
Fellow travelers, may we remember how to reach across what divides us, so our hands do not forget how to clasp and form a bridge.
Ubuntu.
Jennifer
© 2025 Jennifer Ayres, PhD | Still River Counseling, PLLC
Written with care for fellow travelers navigating life’s changing currents.
🌐 StillRiverCounseling.com | 📍 Austin, TX
Gentle Reminder: The reflections shared here are intended to support insight—not replace therapy. Reading is not a substitute for therapy or professional advice that is patient-specific and does not create a therapeutic or doctor/patient relationship.
P.S. An earlier version of this blog was previously published on Substack.
