Imagine you are on the losing side of a referendum that will profoundly shape the future of your country. You have been deeply invested in the campaign leading up to the vote, getting angry about the inaccurate claims of the opposing side and afraid of what a loss would mean. When you learn of the loss, an overwhelming sense of grief strikes you. Over the next few weeks, you keep thinking about how this could have happened, what it means, what more you could have done, and what you should do now. Though you mostly carry on with life as usual, you get into a few heated arguments, some at work. One day, your boss tells you your attitude has been poor lately. When you explain yourself, they say that politics and work are separate, pointing out that your colleagues have no problem leaving politics at the office door. You mention the conversation to your partner, who says that you have been different lately and that it is not healthy to think so much about the referendum. Maybe they are right, you think. Maybe there is something wrong with you. A little googling confirms your worries. An article on a mental health charity website warns that your feelings might be early symptoms of mental disorder. Getting help through the public healthcare system would take months, but you have some money to spare, so you book a therapist. In your first meeting, the therapist explains that what you are feeling actually is not about the outcome of the referendum and no amount of getting out on the street, writing your MP or community organizing will help to address it. Your feelings are about you and you alone. You are not immediately convinced, but do not dismiss it. The therapist is the expert, after all; they know what they are talking about. You start going to weekly therapy sessions. And, sometime later, you realise that the grief is gone, and you decide that the therapist was right. After all, you cannot really do much about the referendum result. It is what it is. You just had to accept it, let it go and move on with your life.