Find grounding in uncertain times

Welcome to Beyond Stability, where psychiatrist, social scientist and humanitarian adviser Dr. Suzan Song shares reflections about how we think, decide, and partner during uncertain times— and find a sense of groundedness and even joy in the humanness of life.

Many people assume that stability is the main goal in life.

We organize our lives around it: pursuing predictable careers, partners, and carefully constructed plans. Even the term resilience is framed as “bouncing back” to something known.

But back to what, exactly? 

In my work, I’ve noticed something counterintuitive. The moments that caused the most trouble, both personally and professionally, aren’t usually the unstable ones. They’re actually the moments when instability appears and we rush to make it go away. 

Uncertainty makes us uncomfortable. And that discomfort shapes how we decide.

Neuroscientist Archy de Berker at the University College of London showed this in a study where participants played a game: find a snake under a rock and earn a mildly but painful electric shock (ouch!). What varied wasn’t the shock itself, but whether participants could predict when it would occur.

The finding was striking: players were more distressed when they didn’t know whether a shock was coming than when they knew one was inevitable. In other words, we’d rather know about bad news than have to sit with uncertainty about it. 

So we move quickly—to explain, to decide, to restore equilibrium. Sometimes that’s necessary. But oftentimes, it’s premature.

I see this dynamic in relationships all the time. Some people stay not because they feel deeply aligned, but because predictability feels safer than disruption—even when something essential is missing. Stability gets framed as responsibility or a byproduct of reality.

Years later, some realize that the uncertainty they worked so hard to suppress was pointing to something real to be listened to—misaligned values, uneven growth, or a quiet fear of starting over. 

The same pattern appears in organizations. When early instability emerges, some leaders respond by tightening timelines or centralizing decisions. The system looks calmer, but it can also stop surfacing what isn’t working. Over time, some of the most talented staff can lose trust, or even leave. 

In both cases, the problem isn’t instability.

It’s the assumption that stability is something to be protected at all costs. 

We are taught, implicitly and explicitly, that instability equals danger:

So we rush to fill gaps with narrative, action, and logic, often before we understand what the situation is actually asking of us. 

But stability isn’t a permanent state—that’s the beauty of the human experience. Our lives are filled with transitions and disruptions, then recalibration. Some of the most durable decisions about work, partnership, and direction, are born in the spaces where everything is shifting while you choose to stay grounded. 

What happens when the safety nets of stability that we construct trap us to a smaller life than we’re capable of, or than we deserve?

Embracing instability doesn’t mean chasing chaos or welcoming suffering. It means letting go of the illusion of stability, and developing the capacity to stay oriented when life around you shifts.

Before rushing to stabilize, ask yourself: 

Instability, when thoughtfully embraced, often has useful information we need.

I’ve been in a relationship for three years. It’s not bad enough to be bad, but not good enough to be good. I feel stuck in a fog—unsure whether to stay or go. I keep waiting for clarity, but I’m just afraid of disrupting something stable, despite my constant dissatisfaction. How do I know what to do? 

Stable ambiguity can be more costly than overt conflict. For now, step away from the question of whether the relationship is “good enough” to keep and instead consider what the uncertainty is asking of you.

Avoidance tries to preserve comfort. Discernment is staying with the discomfort long enough to understand what it’s pointing to. So instead of grasping onto stability, listen carefully to what the instability is revealing—it may be doing you a favor.

In my upcoming book, Why We Suffer and How We Heal (Penguin, 2026), I explore these dynamics across personal, organizational, and social contexts, drawing on science, clinical experience and real-world cases. 

You can find occasional longer reflections, media, and event information at www.suzansong.com

If this resonated, feel free to forward this to someone who could use a little support right now! And if this was forwarded to you, you can subscribe here. Life is hard. But it’s harder when we’re at it alone. 

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