Few can deny that whether you love or hate President Donald Trump, the first 100 days of his second term have been marked by bold and controversial actions that will shape American life for years, if not decades, to come. His administration has unleashed a torrent of dramatic moves: a record blitz of executive orders reshaping immigration, trade, and environmental policy; the escalation of trade wars, especially with China, that have rattled global markets; an aggressive effort to slash the size of federal agencies; and policy shifts in international relations, including a realignment on Russia and Ukraine. The stock market’s volatility reflects just how deeply these decisions are impacting the economic climate.
Yet, while the policy fireworks dominate headlines, a less visible but equally profound story is unfolding: the emotional toll Trump's presidency is having on millions of Americans.
For many, particularly those directly affected by the sweeping changes, there is a constant, gnawing sense of fear and uncertainty. Immigrants facing mass deportations, citizens facing the suspension of due process, members of the LGBTQ+ community being threatened with losing hard-fought rights, diversity programs dismantled, and hundreds of thousands of federal workers grappling with layoffs or the threat of them—all are navigating a landscape of heightened anxiety about their futures. The emotional distress among these groups is real, and it is growing.
But the ripple effects of emotional strain stretch far beyond traditionally marginalized communities.
Farmers —often seen as part of Trump's base—are among those now bearing heavy emotional burdens. The administration’s tariff battles have created market instability, slashed export opportunities, and driven up the cost of supplies. Farmers, many of whom operate on tight margins and seasonal incomes, are facing growing anxiety over the viability of their livelihoods. The unpredictable nature of Trump’s trade policies has left many feeling trapped between loyalty and economic survival, fueling frustration and fear in America’s agricultural heartland.
Veterans, too, are grappling with a deep sense of betrayal. Under the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) initiative, sweeping layoffs gutted the Department of Veterans Affairs, eliminating over 80,000 job s. These cuts have strained the system's ability to provide healthcare, mental health services, and employment for former service members. Veterans who once found purpose in helping their peers are now left jobless, while others are losing critical healthcare resources. This erosion of support has triggered new waves of anxiety, anger, and despai r among those who served.
The emotional landscape is also shifting dramatically for parents of children with disabilities. Cuts to Medicaid and other healthcare supports are threatening not just their children’s well-being but their families’ financial stability. As one parent told NBC Washington, "Without Medicaid, I don't know how we would survive." The sense of helplessness and fear that these families are experiencing is profound and growing.
And the list goes on. Women, worried about rollbacks to reproductive rights and workplace protections, report rising levels of fear and activism fatigue. University administrators must navigate an increasingly volatile environment for free speech, affirmative action, and campus safety. Nonprofit leaders, particularly those working on civil rights, environmental justice, and public health, are stretched thin trying to defend decades of hard-won progress against sweeping federal retrenchments.
Meanwhile, Trump’s confrontational leadership style is adding another layer of stress nationwide. Studies cited in Psychology Today in 2020 pointed to a clear trend: the president’s combative, polarizing, and often personal rhetoric heightens emotional distress across the political spectrum. Americans are again reporting increased levels of anxiety, anger, and political exhaustion. Many feel marginalized or unheard in a political climate defined by conflict rather than dialogue. Those on the right have had their fears fueled; those on the left have been cast as targets. The rising emotional distress only deepens Trump’s populist appeal, amplified through escalating “us vs. them” rhetoric and violent vocabulary.
In just 100 days, Trump’s presidency has left a visible mark on government institutions and global markets. But perhaps even more significantly, it has deepened the emotional divide within America, fraying the mental and emotional resilience of millions of its citizens.
If the next 1,360 days of his presidency continue at this pace, the damage to the American psyche may rival the political changes taking place on paper. Healing will not come easily.
David Nevins is co-publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
Kristina Becvar is co-publisher of The Fulcrum and executive director of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
image of U.S. President Donald Trump is displayed on a digital billboard in Times Square in New York on April 8, 2026.
Trump is stuck between two realities. Neither serves the American people
Normally, I worry that events may overtake a column. But not so with the Iran war.
I don’t worry about running afoul of a headline or Truth Social post from the president because what is said about the situation is no longer very relevant to the reality.
On April 8, Nick Catoggio, my Dispatch colleague, dubbed an earlier stoppage with Iran “Schrödinger’s ceasefire.” This was a reference to the famous thought experiment by the physicist Erwin Schrödinger, who was trying to explain the weirdness of “superpositionality” in quantum physics. A cat in a box is both dead and alive at the same time until you open the box. Schrödinger meant to illustrate the absurdity of the idea that particles aren’t any one thing, but a “cloud of probabilities.”
The Trump administration is stuck in a word cloud of probabilities of his own making. The war is over. The war is on. The war isn’t a war. We have a deal, but we don’t have a deal, but we’re about to have a deal. We destroyed Iran’s military. No, we left it intact. We want regime change. No we don’t. We already accomplished it. We “obliterated” Iran’s nuclear program a year ago. We had to go to war in February to prevent nuclear war. The Strait of Hormuz is open, closed, or something in-between. No deal without “unconditional surrender.” Let’s make a deal!
This everything-all-at-once vibe can be disorienting, particularly since most Americans didn’t have a war with Iran on their bingo cards until the shooting had already started. President Trump didn’t prepare the country or consult with Congress beforehand because he thought it would all be a smashing success in a matter of weeks.
The miscalculation that started it all: killing Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, and much of Iran’s senior leadership, on the first day of the war. To “the great proud people of Iran, I say tonight that the hour of your freedom is at hand,” Trump announced on Feb. 28. “When we are finished, take over your government. It will be yours to take. This will be probably your only chance for generations.”
I support regime change in Iran and shed no tears for Khamenei or his goons. But when you start a war by killing the regime’s top leaders, it’s not unreasonable for the remaining ones to conclude that you really intend regime change.
Khamenei was a murderous fanatic, but he was a fairly cautious one. He liked to threaten closing the Strait of Hormuz or attacking our regional allies, but he was reluctant to actually do it, fearing it would invite a regime change war. The mullahs and IRGC goons believed, not unreasonably, that if they lost their grip on power, they’d be lynched by the Iranian people they’ve brutalized for decades.
By starting with a regime change war, Trump removed any reason for the regime not to go for broke. When you have nothing to lose — particularly when you are a millenarian religious fanatic — a Persian Alamo strategy makes a lot of sense.
So Iran closed the Strait of Hormuz and attacked its neighbors.
But it turns out this wasn’t the Alamo. In the contest of wills, Trump blinked. The Iranian regime’s tolerance for punishment proved — so far — to be greater than Trump’s and that of our gulf allies. Militarily we could finish the job, but that would require ground troops and much greater economic turmoil. In a conflict Trump launched unilaterally without the prior support of Congress, NATO or the American people, Trump doesn’t have the political capital for that.
But that’s only half the problem. Trump wants the war over, but he doesn’t want to pay — militarily, economically, politically — what that would cost. So he wants to make a deal that ends it. But there is no deal available that wouldn’t come at an equally undesirable cost. Any deal that looks like what President Obama struck with the Iranians would be too embarrassing to bear. But the Iranians are convinced that they can get just such a deal, and they’re willing to drag things out as long as it takes.
The result: Trump’s in a box of his own making. He thinks he can talk his way out by simply asserting a reality that doesn’t exist. When the financial markets get nervous, he announces a breakthrough that is, at best, a possibility. When the Iranians agree to a deal that looks similar to one Obama might negotiate, Trump goes back to his threats.
It can’t go on forever. But I’m sure it’ll last until long after this column is forgotten.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.