The first thing you notice in a room of people who just survived two hurricanes is the staring. People are still hypervigilant, the aroused state in which someone looks for danger. This room was filled with heroes who had just overcome the storms: therapists, occupational therapists, community organizers, social workers, horticultural therapists, counselors, doctors, and nurses. I was in North Carolina with my colleague Dr. Marsha Vaughn. We were there to teach them how to respond to the families who survived.

I serve as a board member for the American Horticultural Therapy Association (AHTA). Long before we knew about Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton, AHTA happened to schedule its annual conference in Raleigh, North Carolina. Dr. Vaughn and I research Climate Anxiety. We were there to give a seminar we have taught internationally on how mental health professionals can respond to natural disasters. Climate change has made natural disasters a fact of life. Therapists worldwide are asking how we can respond to this mental health crisis. Dr. Vaughn and I had no idea we’d find ourselves at ground zero.

The technique we taught is pretty straightforward: ask survivors to share what they learned. These “legacy stories” are lessons that make meaning for survivors (Vaughn & Yukins, 2024). These stories develop a shared identity among communities. They teach future generations how to survive. But these stories hurt to say out loud. “Trigger” is a clinical term for internal or external reminders of traumatic events. Describing what happened to you is one, long trigger. Navigating a minefield of triggers is what we practice as therapists.

The hurricanes in North Carolina left thousands without access to safe drinking water. Roads were flooded, and people scrambled to get help. Many of the clinicians had just driven from a couple hours away. Among their stories were images of tragedy: people evacuating from assisted living facilities, people emptying their checking account to get supplies for their neighbors, local economies collapsing, maybe never to come back. Whole towns had been flooded.

Help each other was the number one lesson attendees described, help your neighbors. We have each other.

‍As everyone went through the exercise they would one day use with clients and patients, they shared these lessons, some cried. Some dissociated, some became angry. In circles of five or eight chairs, people offered each other comfort. As I walked around the room, I felt my chest grow heavy with the emotional weight. Therapists like me are not immune to suffering. We practice opening our hearts to others’ heartbreak.

A major consideration in this exercise is creating a safe space to share stories that become lessons. The exercise itself should be a healing experience. Sharing stories shouldn’t just feel depleting and scary otherwise the benefits would be lost. The experience at its healthiest feels generative, illuminating, and reparative as you move through the sadness.

At the end of the seminar, the room felt lighter. One woman thanked us, “Just for holding the space.” So many helping professionals suffer vicarious trauma in silence. It’s hard to describe my admiration for the people I taught in that room. They gave everything for their communities. Very rarely does a crisis affect every single one of my clients. Therapists can keep caseloads of 25-50 people at one time. In a room of mental health professionals, we are accompanied by the silent presence of hundreds. Their stories fill our heads. Their sorrows flood our hearts. If you have a friend who practices therapy, ask them how they leave work at work. I myself have to take a shower and change my clothes when I get home. Therapists need self-care, including their own therapy, to work through vicarious trauma and other challenges that may be similar to what our clients experience.

As our climate changes forever, it is imperative that we come together in community to share our stories with each other. Therapy is not aftercare. Therapy is crisis response. Everyone will need this support to reckon with the changes ahead, including providers.

However, you do not have to survive a natural disaster to experience Climate Anxiety. The majority of people 16-25 years old experience feelings of sadness, anxiety, anger, powerlessness, helplessness, and guilt related to climate change. If you struggle with Climate Anxiety, please reach out to a mental health professional. We don’t have all the answers, but we are here to walk with you through this crisis. We are here so you don’t have to hold this pain alone.

If you have loved ones impacted by the effects of climate change, I hope they made it out okay. I hope they get to share their stories with you; and I hope you take their lessons to heart. As I learned in North Carolina, the only way we are going to survive climate change is together. Human beings are tiny in the face of a hurricane, but we are giants in the hearts of each other.

Photo Credit: The Mirror