Amy Acton’s “Healing” Tour Is Just a Rich Lady’s Midlife Crisis with a Megaphone
Oh, look. Another washed-up public figure has discovered the cure for everything, and it’s not vaccines—it’s *her*. Dr. Amy Acton, the former Ohio Health Director who became the patron saint of lockdowns for about five minutes in 2020, is back in the headlines. Apparently, she’s ditching the stale conference rooms of Columbus for a “listening and healing tour” across the country. Because nothing says “grounded public servant” like a cross-country road trip funded by your own hype machine to tell strangers how to feel.
Let’s rewind the tape for those of you who forgot. Acton was the woman who told Ohioans to stay home while her own governor, Mike DeWine, was practically begging her to be the bad cop. She became a folk hero to the “Trust the Science” crowd and a literal Antichrist to the “My Body, My Choice (But Only for Guns)” crowd. She got death threats, sure, but she also got a book deal, a keynote speaker circuit, and a permanent spot on the cable news “Will She Run for President?” bingo card. Now she’s back, and she’s rebranded as a mental health guru.
Her new tour, which she’s calling “The Walk With Amy” (I wish I was joking), is described as a “nonpartisan effort to bridge the divides that have torn apart our communities.” Translation: She’s going to stand in a field in Ohio, nod sympathetically while some dude in a John Deere hat complains about mask mandates, and then pivot to how we all need to “sit with our discomfort.” Spare me. This is the same energy as your aunt who went to a yoga retreat in Sedona for a week and came back convinced she could cure your depression with essential oils and a “heart-opening” playlist.
Let’s be real about what this is: A desperate attempt to stay relevant. Acton hasn’t had a real job since she quit in June 2020, right when things got hard and the political heat got too spicy. She didn’t stay to fight the good fight; she bailed to write a memoir and collect speaking fees from university diversity offices. Now that the pandemic is over (for the rich, anyway), she’s looking around at a country that’s moved on and realized her “expertise” is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. So what does she do? She pivots to the vaguest possible topic: healing.
The absolute gall of a woman who was the face of a government mandate to tell us she’s here to “listen” is staggering. Where was this listening ear when she was telling my neighbor he couldn’t go to Home Depot for a new drill because of a “stay-at-home” order? Where was her empathy for the small business owner who lost everything while she sat in her air-conditioned office tweeting about “flattening the curve”? I’m sure she’s very interested in “hearing your story” now that it’s a paid engagement with a microphone and a press release.
And the tour itself? It’s not like she’s walking through Appalachia with a backpack and a sack lunch. This is a meticulously staged PR operation. She’s got a website. She’s got a media team. She’s probably got a branded water bottle and a merch line featuring her favorite platitudes like “We Are All Connected” printed in a calming sans-serif font. You know she’s going to be “interviewed” by friendly local news anchors who will ask softball questions like, “What would you say to someone who feels unheard?” and she’ll respond with a gentle sigh and some nonsense about the “collective trauma of the human spirit.”
Let’s also talk about the elephant in the room: Politics. Acton insists this tour is “nonpartisan,” which is rich coming from someone who was literally the target of conservative ire for two straight years. She’s trying to play both sides now. She’ll probably say something like, “I understand the fear of both the vaccinated and the unvaccinated,” which is the intellectual equivalent of saying “I respect both the firefighter and the arsonist.” You can’t “heal” a country where one half thinks you’re a hero for closing schools and the other half thinks you’re a tyrant for suggesting we wash our hands. Pick a lane, Amy. You can’t be the brave whistleblower and the folksy grandmother at the same time.
The worst part? People will eat this up. The same suburban moms who put “In This House We Believe” signs on their lawns and posted “Stay Home” art on Instagram will flock to her town halls. They’ll cry in the audience when she talks about the “loneliness of the lockdown.” They’ll buy her book and feel morally superior for “doing the work.” It’s a self-congratulatory feedback loop for the coastal elite who never had to worry about eviction or feeding their kids without school lunches.
Meanwhile, the actual workers—the ones who had to choose between COVID and starvation—they’re not on the “healing tour.” They’re working double shifts at the warehouse. They don’t have time for Acton’s performative empathy. They don’t need a former bureaucrat to “hold space” for them. They need affordable childcare and a livable wage, but sure, let’s all sit in a circle and talk about our feelings.
So go ahead, Amy. Take your walk. Listen to the wind. Feel the grass beneath your designer sneakers. But know that the rest of us see through this transparent grift. You’re not a healer; you’re a politician without a podium. And when the tour ends and the donations dry up, you’ll be right back on CNN, telling us we need to prepare for the next variant. But hey, at least you’ll have some nice photos for your Instagram feed.
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Final Thoughts
Dr. Amy Acton’s tenure was a masterclass in the brutal gap between public-health science and political survival—she offered clarity and empathy while the system demanded a scapegoat for its own constitutional chaos. Her resignation wasn’t a defeat of her expertise, but a damning indictment of how quickly we weaponize fear against the very messengers we beg for guidance. In the end, her legacy isn’t just the flattened curve in Ohio, but the uncomfortable truth that our democracy still hasn’t learned to reward courage over convenience.