There’s a quote I recently shared—“To be called ‘woke’ in a world that sleeps through suffering is no insult.” It was attributed to “Pope Leo XIV,” and I shared it because the words struck a chord deep in me. They still do.

But here’s the thing: Pope Leo XIV did not say this. The quote isn’t real, at least not in the papal sense. It’s a fictional attribution that’s been making its rounds across social media—clever, poignant, but not rooted in an official source. And I want to own that. I believe in correcting what I get wrong, especially in a world already saturated with misinformation and half-truths.

That said? The heart of the quote still rings true.

To be called “woke” in a world that numbs itself to suffering isn’t a weakness—it’s a signal that your heart still works. That you're paying attention. That you're still, somehow, awake. Woke means awakened by compassion. Guided by truth. Committed to justice—not just for some, but for all.

These words resonate profoundly in our current climate . In an era where empathy is often overshadowed by apathy, choosing to remain awake—to the injustices, the pain, the humanity—is a radical act of love

Some folks have started using the word “woke” like it’s an insult. Like caring too deeply is a personal inconvenience. Like noticing injustice is a social faux pas. Imagine that: empathy rebranded as a threat. But in a world that so often sleeps through suffering, I’ll take woke every time.

To be awake right now—to systems crumbling, to cruelty disguised as policy, to the ways unchecked greed is devouring humanity and calling it “progress”—takes grit. And not the curated kind with enamel pins and tote bags. I mean real grit. The kind you earn from choosing tenderness when it’d be easier to go numb.

Because look around. A sitting president is rumored to be accepting luxury sky palaces while everyday folks ration insulin, skip therapy, or do mental gymnastics trying to get a claim approved. We’re watching democracy waver while billionaires play chess with the global economy—and all we’re offered in return is a “self-care Sunday” and a 3-minute breathing app. Cool.

So where does that leave us?

Here, still awake. Still stubborn. Still holding fast to the wildly subversive idea that we deserve better—not just for ourselves, but for one another.

This is your gentle reminder that choosing to be emotionally awake, politically alert, spiritually honest—it’s not performative. It’s powerful. It’s ancestral. It’s survival.

It’s reaching for connection when the world tells you to compete.
It’s choosing softness when cruelty seems like the default.
It’s asking hard questions, tending to your local community, reading the fine print, and calling bullshit with grace.

No, it’s not always comfortable. But it’s right.

Because being awake doesn’t mean being perfect. It means being present. It means refusing to disappear into the noise. It means asking yourself, daily, how to live in alignment with a world you’d be proud to leave behind. Even when—especially when—it would be easier to look away.

So if you feel weary, if you feel stretched, if you feel like the only one who still gives a damn...

You’re not alone.

You’re just awake. On purpose.

Where in your life are you still choosing to stay awake?