Lately, the potential of a U.S. strike on Iran has been a source of deep stress, especially for those of us in the diaspora who aren’t physically there but carry all the weight of what’s happening. It’s easy to form a distorted picture of the atmosphere back in Iran when all you see are headlines, clips, and endless opinions. Judgment becomes unclear, anxiety becomes constant, and reality feels distant.
Last night, I found myself doom-scrolling again, driven not by curiosity, but by stress. And then it hit me: the tragic events in Iran have occupied my mind far more than they should have for the past couple of years. I’m so wrapped up in them that I’m not giving the focus I need to my job. I’m pouring energy into directions where, realistically, I can’t make a meaningful impact.
I always hated politics, but loved following it. And yet, these days, the likelihood of major scenarios unfolding for Iran’s future seems higher than I could’ve imagined just a month ago. I have immense respect for political activists and analysts; there’s a reason such work is done by professionals. I’m not ashamed to admit that I no longer understand it the way I thought I did. The deeper you learn, the more you realize how complicated and overwhelming it truly is.
I don’t want to explore politics anymore. To judge a situation accurately, emotion has to be set aside. But having grown up in Iran, I carry personal experiences and emotional ties that cloud the picture. My memories don’t necessarily reflect the reality today, and the mix of hope and grief I feel can easily lead me to wrong conclusions. Conclusions that have recently become major sources of stress and anxiety.
Although this may sound pessimistic, I think the path forward for me is to focus on what I can build. Something that could genuinely serve Iranians after they move beyond the current oppressive regime, in free Iran where tech platforms can function independently, something that help people enjoy their life even more.
I need to focus on what I’m good at, on my responsibilities as CEO/CTO of my startup. I’m ashamed to admit that beyond that, I feel utterly powerless. And yet, this feels like the most respectful way I can honor and support Iranians, especially in the wake of this national tragedy that we are all mourning. My thoughts and prayers go out to every family who has lost someone.
I’ve reached this conclusion more than once during the history of Iranian uprisings, but this time I’m writing it publicly. I don’t want to waste my time on things where I cannot make a significant difference.
To better days for Iranians and the diaspora.
Yaashaar