Yahoo Lifestyle What It's Like To Help Patients Through Wildfire Trauma While Evacuating
Cara Gardenswartz, PhD, is a psychologist and the founder of Group Therapy LA/NY, a bicoastal psychotherapy practice that works both in person and remotely with adults, children, couples, families, and groups. She has lived in Los Angeles for over 25 years.
It was last Tuesday, around 11 in the morning, when I got the first emergency alert about evacuating. I was with a patient. She got the alert at the same time. I had to stay calm for her while also trying to problem-solve for myself—I live and work near the site of the Palisades fire—and figure out how I would finish the workday. That afternoon, I was supposed to have in-person sessions with patients, but I changed them to Zoom.
As the afternoon went on, it became clear that the Palisades fire was expanding. I finished my sessions for the day and made the judgment call to evacuate. I was on the border of the area designated as mandatory evacuation, but several years ago, I had to evacuate for the Skirball fire at 3 a.m., so I decided to leave that night instead of waiting it out. My go-bag, which is a suitcase filled with important items needed in case of an evacuation, had the basics: clothes for a few days, toiletries, medication, cash, passport, and legal documents. Luckily, I had already digitized my photo albums in case we had another fire. I went to a friend’s house in West Hollywood, but she couldn’t take my dog, so I had to find another friend who could. I ended up staying at my friends’ place for five nights before returning home.
Almost immediately after I got the evacuation alert, I started getting calls from patients. In the days that followed, some lost their homes, some had evacuated but were terrified the fire was going to reach their homes, one couple was at odds over how to handle their evacuation, and one patient was having tremendous survivor’s guilt because their home was the only one still standing on their block. Overall, my patients haven’t been upset about the material things. But they feel like their lives will never be what they were. Some are wondering if they should leave Los Angeles forever. It’s a lot of loss, a lot of grief.
For the most part, I’m there to listen and be empathetic. The most helpful thing I can do is bear witness to their struggle. “It’s okay to feel scared and to grieve,” I tell them. “Everyone is feeling a huge loss of control. You’re doing all the right things. Let’s focus on what you can control right now.”
A lot of them ask, “What about you?” I have told them that I evacuated from my home and am safe, but then I turn it back to them because their session is not about me. But it’s bizarre. As a therapist, you’re usually the expert. But it’s hard to feel like the expert when you’re also in the trenches. And I’m not a fire expert, right? So I’ve had to drop that idea, putting it aside so I can create a safe space for my patients to process and feel their feelings, because that’s the best thing they can do right now: talk about it instead of bottling it up.
As all of this is happening, I’m getting inundated with texts from friends wanting to know how I am. While I’m grateful for the outpouring of care, I haven’t had the time or energy to respond to them individually. I started cutting and pasting the same reply: “Evacuated and hanging in there. Thanks for checking.” I posted a blog on my website about what to say to people affected by the wildfires, and it was born from feeling overwhelmed by the pressure to keep updating everyone. I suggested saying things like, “You don't need to write back, but I'm thinking about you, and if you need me, I'm here.” You can also offer something useful and specific, saying something like, “Hey, can I take your pets?” or offer to help them with the insurance forms by making phone calls or anything to assist them with that.
My own well-being is important too. If I don’t take care of myself, I can’t show up for my patients. I’m normally not a bath person, but since returning home after evacuating, I’ve been taking baths every night. I turn off my phone and zone out for an hour. My Pilates studio was shut down, so I went on YouTube and found a mat Pilates workout that I’ve been doing just to move my body. I’ve also reached out to colleagues of mine—other therapists who are going through this—and we lean on each other. A friend of mine is a therapist in New York, and she’s said to me, “I want you to have a place to vent, so tell me everything that’s making you crazy.” She’s given me permission to unload because she knows I’m holding it in all day while I focus on everyone else. That’s been really, really helpful.
Right now, the fire containments and evacuation orders are very day-to-day. I’m back to seeing patients in person, but it’s only a few. Many others fled L.A. and aren’t close enough. And the winds are predicted to return. The most exhausting part is that being in crisis mode has been never-ending. It’s been days and days of fight-or-flight.
Rebuilding neighborhoods and recovering emotionally isn’t going to be solved in three or six months. It’s going to take years, and there’s going to be a lot of PTSD and trauma therapy.
In a way, though, L.A. feels like a small town for the first time in the 29 years since I’ve lived here. There’s a lot of coming together as a community. There are a lot of resources out there. My colleagues and I are offering free support groups so people can share either in physical or virtual spaces. There’s going to be an ongoing need for support, because even though the fires will eventually be gone, people are going to be displaced for a long, long time, and they’re going to need help.
Being a psychologist right now has been a paradox. You’re expected to be the calm in the storm, but you’re also living it. It’s messy and human and it teaches you to practice what you preach in the most profound way.
You Might Also Like
