Staying Connected: How White Women Can Move from White Apathy to Action

Jonelle
Oct 16, 2025
8 min read

A reflection on accountability and staying present in the fight for equity.

Before diving further, I want to be clear: this reflection is not about seeking empathy for white women’s struggles. Rather, it’s about identifying the internal and cultural factors that shape how white women show up in equity work so that we can adjust and grow in ways that strengthen rather than center ourselves.

When I first heard the phrase white women apathy floating around activist spaces, it stung. Apathy? As in not caring? That couldn’t be right. The women I know: the ones showing up for diversity, equity, and inclusion work, reading the books, attending workshops, leading change in their workplaces; care deeply. They’re not indifferent; they’re exhausted. What many of us are feeling isn’t apathy at all. It’s burnout. And that distinction matters.

This conversation started on our podcast, White Women Wake Up, when my mom (and co-host) Karen and I began unpacking why so many white women seem to be disengaging from social justice work. The word apathy kept coming up. But as we talked, we realized it wasn’t disinterest, it was depletion. We were witnessing the emotional fatigue of white women reckoning with privilege, perfectionism, and the slow, often invisible nature of systemic change.

So, what’s really happening beneath the surface of what’s being labeled as white women apathy? And how can we move through it, without retreating into comfort or centering our own pain?

The Myth of Apathy: What’s Really Going On

In activist circles, the term white women apathy can sound like a moral failing. Apathy, as defined clinically, means a lack of interest, motivation, or emotional connection (1). That’s not what I see in the women around me. I see women who are deeply moved but paralyzed. Women who have poured themselves into doing “the right thing” only to feel unsure about how to keep showing up.

In the podcast, I talked to Karen about attending a women’s empowerment workshop that quickly devolved into despair. These women weren’t apathetic, they were grieving. Grieving the slowness of progress, the discomfort of realizing their privilege, the tension of being both ally and oppressor in the same body. What I witnessed was burnout, an emotional and moral fatigue that mirrors what sociologists call compassion fatigue (2).

Compassion fatigue isn’t unique to activism; it’s seen in feilds like healthcare and education. But in racial justice work, it has a unique twist. White women often enter the work with high expectations for themselves; to be perfect allies. When that expectation collides with the truth that unlearning bias is lifelong and uncomfortable, the result can feel like collapse.

White Feminism and the Cycle of Exhaustion

To understand this better, we have to look at the cultural scripts white women have inherited. For generations, white women have been socialized to be "good" and keep the peace. But as Dr. Robin DiAngelo points out in White Fragility, this conditioning also means white women are often unpracticed in tolerating discomfort around race (3). When we (as white women) finally enter that discomfort, it can feel overwhelming.

Historically, white women have also occupied a complicated position in systems of power. From suffrage to civil rights, white women have both challenged and upheld white supremacy (4). This duality creates internal dissonance: we want to do good but are also products of the very systems we’re trying to dismantle. When we face criticism or feel our efforts aren’t “enough,” that dissonance can turn into defensiveness or withdrawal.

This is the burnout cycle of white feminism: over-identification with doing good, over-functioning to prove it, and eventual collapse when the emotional return doesn’t match the effort. We confuse doing the work with being the work.

A Note on Frameworks and Their Limitations

While concepts like white fragility have entered mainstream discourse, it’s important to acknowledge ongoing scholarly debates. Critics, including linguist John McWhorter, have argued that some frameworks risk being condescending toward Black people (NPR interview, 2021), while others point to concerns about class differences within whiteness being overlooked. The goal isn’t to find the perfect model but to stay open to multiple perspectives, including voices that challenge our own. This intellectual humility is itself part of the work.

Psychological Safety and Growth Fatigue

During our conversation, Karen connected this to psychological safety: the belief that you won’t be punished or humiliated for speaking up with ideas, questions, or mistakes (5). In social justice spaces, psychological safety can be scarce. Many white women fear saying the wrong thing, getting called out, or losing relationships. But without that safety, growth stalls.

Research shows that environments with high psychological safety foster more innovation, learning, and accountability (6). The same applies here. When white women feel safe to make mistakes and stay curious, we’re more likely to stay engaged. But safety doesn’t mean comfort, it means trust. It’s the assurance that discomfort won’t destroy connection.

So how do we build that? By cultivating what Dr. Carol Dweck calls a growth mindset: the belief that abilities and understanding can evolve through effort and feedback (7). A growth mindset helps us shift from “I failed” to “I’m learning.” It invites us to see discomfort as data, not danger.

Burnout as a Signal, Not a Stop Sign

If apathy is really burnout, then our exhaustion is trying to tell us something. In The Body Keeps the Score, Dr. Bessel van der Kolk reminds us that burnout is a full-body response to chronic stress (8). The solution isn’t to double down, it’s to restore. Rest is not retreat; it’s resistance.

In the podcast, I admitted to Karen that I’d been feeling overwhelmed by all the hats I wear: consultant, podcaster, author. At some point, I had to pause. Not because I stopped caring, but because I couldn’t sustain the pace. As Karen wisely reminded me, sometimes we have to change the criteria for what success looks like. Instead of measuring worth by output like number of followers, we can measure it by inner growth or community impact.

This shift echoes the research of burnout expert Dr. Christina Maslach, who identifies value misalignment as one of the leading causes of burnout (9). When our sense of purpose drifts from our daily actions, motivation evaporates. Reconnecting with intrinsic values, why we care, not how much we do, can reignite engagement.

The Role of Privilege in Burnout

Here’s where it gets complicated: while rest is essential, privilege allows white women to step back in ways that people of color cannot. When we withdraw entirely, we leave others holding the weight of the work. That’s why the solution isn’t just personal restoration; it’s collective accountability.

In the podcast, Karen said, “Our privilege means we can walk away. But people of color can’t.” That reminder hit me hard. White women apathy (or burnout) becomes harmful when it turns into avoidance. Sustainable activism asks us to balance self-care with continued commitment.

The Hidden Cost: How White Women’s Burnout Affects Others

What’s rarely discussed is that white women’s burnout doesn’t just affect us (white women). Research shows that white activists can elevate burnout in activists of color through specific behaviors: harboring unevolved views, undermining their work, exhibiting white fragility, or taking credit for their ideas (Gorski & Erakat, 2019). Women of color activists experience the cumulative impact of multiple marginalized identities, which compounds their burnout. When white women cycle through phases of intense engagement followed by retreat, we may inadvertently create extra labor for activists of color, who must then re-educate and rebuild trust.

This means our “responsible rest” must include discernment: Are we disappearing right before a crucial action? Are we leaving a coalition understaffed? Sustainable activism isn’t just about our personal wellbeing, it’s about maintaining relational and organizational commitments even when we’re depleted.

As anti-racist educator Resmaa Menakem writes, “Healing is not a weekend workshop; it’s daily practice” (10). The work doesn’t end because we’re tired. It transforms because we learn how to sustain it.

Moving from Burnout to Balance: Practical Steps

So what does it look like to move from apathy to action without collapsing again? Here are a few practices that have helped me and our podcast community:

1. Redefine Progress. Small, consistent actions matter more than public performances. Join a local coalition. Read with a book club. Donate regularly. Teach your kids. Progress isn’t viral; it’s cumulative.

2. Build Community. As we said in the episode, “If you don’t have community, we can be your community.” Find or create spaces where growth is supported, not shamed. Mutual accountability keeps us grounded when motivation dips.

3. Rest Responsibly. Take breaks to recharge, not to disappear. Ask yourself: “What’s my plan to re-engage?” Rest should restore purpose, not absolve responsibility.

4. Practice Curiosity Over Certainty. Stay open. Read perspectives that challenge you. Follow activists of color without demanding their emotional labor. Curiosity keeps apathy at bay.

5. Center Impact, Not Intention. Good intentions don’t equal good impact. Listen when feedback comes. The goal isn’t to be the perfect ally; it’s to be a durable one.

Recognizing Difference Within “White Women”

Not all white women experience burnout or have the same privilege to disengage. Working-class white women, disabled white women, LGBTQ+ white women, and those with other marginalized identities navigate activism differently. Economic precarity may limit access to therapy, workshops, or rest. The solutions here: book clubs, therapy, breaks, presume certain resources. If you’re stretched thin, find what’s sustainable while staying connected to the larger movement.

Building Sustainable Organizational Culture

Individual self-care won’t solve structural problems. Organizations and movements must design for sustainability:

Rotate leadership and distribute labor equitably.
Normalize rest, boundaries, and stepping back without guilt.
Fund activists who can’t afford to volunteer indefinitely.
Create accountability structures that encourage learning, not callouts. When movements make space for human limitation, everyone—especially those most impacted—benefits.

From White Guilt to White Responsibility

Ultimately, the antidote to apathy isn’t guilt, it’s grounded responsibility. Guilt isolates; responsibility connects. As Layla Saad writes in Me and White Supremacy, “Guilt is not a badge of honor. It’s an opportunity for action” (11).

That said, some scholars warn that constant self-interrogation can become a form of moral narcissism, what philosopher Kate Manne describes as focusing more on being seen as good than doing good. The goal is to acknowledge how we benefit from unjust systems without making our feelings the center. Sometimes the most responsible act is to follow the lead of those most impacted, fund their work, and do the unglamorous tasks quietly and consistently.

The moment we move from “I feel bad” to “I want to do better,” we exit apathy. We reenter purpose. White women have immense potential to drive change, not through saviorism, but through sustained, self-aware participation in equity work.

Karen and I ended that podcast episode by reminding ourselves that this isn’t about doing it perfectly. It’s about staying awake. When burnout whispers, “Why bother?” our answer can be, “Because connection matters.”

So to every woman reading this who feels tired, disheartened, or unsure: you’re not apathetic. You’re human. Rest, then rise. Recommit, not to perfection, but to presence.

Because the world doesn’t need more white women waking up once. It needs us to stay awake.

Stay curious, be open and keep waking up!

-Jonelle