The famous pediatrician-turned-psychoanalyst, D. W. Winnicott, once observed, "home is where we start from." Home, whatever it may consist of, largely influences our approach to crises or disasters, as well as our approach to life and the world in general.

Below are some ways to help your home, or the spaces in which you reside, enhance your ability to cope. 

Beginning the Day

As much as we like to remind one another that the sun rises, even if behind the clouds, the reality is that the sun does not rise and you do not have to pretend that it is rising behind the clouds in order to help yourself feel better. Rather, the Earth carries you, every evening, to greet the sun in the morning, without you doing anything at all. In gratitude, you can rise to meet it. 

Then, greet yourself in the mirror, and, if you live with others, greet those around you. No matter the circumstances in which you may all find yourself, allow your greeting to be a sign of how much you value and care for one another. 

Beginning in the morning, strive to do the following throughout the day: 

• Hydrate with water
• Include proteins, vegetables, and vitamins with your meals
• Especially during stressful times, limit sugar, caffein, and alcohol
• Move (i.e., walking, stretching, or other forms of exercise)

Throughout the Day

Continue to greet people you encounter in ways that express how you value and care for them. Be grateful when others do the same for you. Work with care, and take at least five minute breaks at least every hour to walk around and focus on something else. These breaks actually will help increase your ability to work well, especially in times of stress. Some people find it helpful to set an hourly alarm for themselves. 

Mid-day and/or early evening, set aside time to talk with or share a meal with people you care about and who care about you. If they are far away, talk with them on the phone or video. 

Ending the Day

Create or recommit to a bedtime routine. Here are some practices you may find helpful:

• Limit screen usage at a certain time
• Use dim lighting at a certain time
• Read or listen to a book you enjoy
• Enjoy an herbal tea 
• Take a bath
• Use aromatherapy
• Say prayers
• Journal
• Meditate
• Practice breathing slowly
• Silence your phone

Creating or recommitting to a regular bedtime routine will help your body feel that it can rely, and relax, into a restful night. 

If you are an organizational leader or volunteer leader, you can be encouraging your staff or volunteers to be practicing healthful routines at home and throughout their work days. This can help to increase moral and productivity, and encourage an overall supportive culture. 

Talk therapy is important. But, as renowned traumatologist Peter Fonagy points out, it cannot be the only solution to resolving mass attacks or natural disaster events. Fonagy, along with increasingly more experts who study the long term effects of disaster on communities, advocates for cultivating "good relationships" within communities as a form of antibody against potential traumatic impacts from disaster. "If you have good relationships they actually help you assimilate that experience." 

What is the essence or character of the kind of "good relationships" that help you assimilate or metabolize adversity? Mainly, reliable care, expressed through language, physical touch, food, space, and ritual. The idiosyncratic displays of these expressions may change from community to community, infused by cultural norms. What determines whether the way they are expressed is "right," is whether the survivor perceives any of these expressions as caring. Which means, the caregiver also must continually observe and adapt as needed.

Who are the caregivers in a community? The ones providing "good relationships" to survivors? They may be family, teachers, neighbors, faith leaders, sport coaches, friends, coworkers, and fellow survivors. Each in their own way, without carrying the full burden of response solely on their own shoulders, contribute to a village of care for survivors.

​They help provide the stepping stones known to foster healing and restoration:

• Nourishing food
• Hydration
• A shoulder to cry on
• A listening ear
• Validation
• Hospitable space to rest, sleep, and meditate or pray
• Movement
• Creative expressions, through fine art, photography, music, dance, or theater
• Community storytelling
• Community or family memorial

Talk therapy is only one, of many, important practices that communities can offer survivors across the long-term trajectory of healing after disaster. Unfortunately, too many communities today are relying on talk therapy as the only way to solve mental health challenges in their community. They miss the caring resources which may exist right in their midst. We can all do more to remind ourselves and those around us of how healing is not only, and cannot only be, a professional task. Rather, it is a communal task, in which talk therapy is one of many proven resources for healing. 

What are some of the ways your community is resolving disaster, beyond only talk therapy? Share in the comments below.  

On November 30th, 2018 a 7.1 magnitude earthquake struck Anchorage, Alaska. I happened to be at work that morning, on the 17th floor of a building built to withstand such an event. Alaska is home to the largest earthquake ever to hit North America. In 1964, a staggering 9.2 quake shook the ground for over five minutes, causing tragic loss of life and changing the state forever. From that time forward, building codes were put in place so structures could withstand the jolts and waves of an earthquake. My building was built on rollers, allowing it to move, twist, sway and still stand. It stood and I was safe. My life was spared. But it moved, twisted and swayed for well over a minute. While this does not sound like much time, when that minute starts with a jolt of such power that it almost knocks you down, and then the next 70-90 seconds are filled with the creaking, grinding and banging noises of an entire building being wrenched around by wave and after wave of seismic forces that can’t be seen, but most certainly can be felt and heard, that time slows down. ​

​​PHOTO: THE WEATHER CHANNEL

I could not have predicted how I experienced those moments. As an Alaskan, I had sat through safety trainings on earthquake readiness, but those trainings only prepare you for what to do, not for how you will feel and how you will act.  

My feelings were terror and my actions were prayers yelled aloud, repeated over and over. Then the building stilled, alarms blared, lights flashed and I joined the hundreds of people racing down stairs to safety. The following days, weeks and months were spent communally enduring aftershock after aftershock, both of seismic waves, and emotions. And just as the aftershocks varied in magnitude and intensity, so did the feelings and experiences of everyone I knew. 

To be sure, there were many shared emotions. The first days were spent having numerous conversations expressing incredible gratitude that there was no loss of life! We praised building codes and solid infrastructure, while often reflecting on tragic opposite events around the globe. We shared over and over again the stories of where we were and what we did when the quake struck. We shared nervous laughter and more vulnerable tears. We shared how we first got in touch with our children and other loved ones. We expressed our fear and exasperation at the unpredictable relentless aftershocks. We shared how our behaviors had changed. Some of us were sleeping all together in one room, or moving to the basement to feel safer. We were checking in on neighbors we didn’t know. We were having spontaneous conversations with strangers in the grocery store aisle, telling our stores and listening to others. We shared. And we shared. And we shared.

And by sharing, we began to heal.  

Shared trauma can bring a community together. It has a way of rearranging society, pushing essential elements of survival to the forefront. In much worse tragedies, those elements are very basic. They are food, water, power, medical care…etc.  

In Alaska, we were lucky and we knew that, but we also needed to heal. And that healing looked different for each and every person, and is ongoing for many. For those that had experienced the 1964 quake, their terror was much greater. Many were surprised by the intensity of their reactions, believing that they had long healed from this early childhood trauma, only to have numerous triggered memories and emotions. Many expressed frustration that they were not able to “get over” this event. This “emotional self judging” was pervasive, with people of all ages and experiences questioning how they were feeling.  

Honest sharing is what helped. Many were comforted by the words of our Governor and Mayor, both of whom quickly and publically spoke to their own feelings of fear for themselves and their families. Another public official, interviewed on the news the night of the quake stated, “We have all gone through a terrifying thing which might cause or trigger mental health issues. This is o.k. It is to be expected. Please don’t be afraid to ask for help. Even though it appears damage was not catastrophic, this was no small thing.”  

Sharing these words with an anxious public was important. It was validating and encouraging. It allowed people to keep sharing honestly and to seek further help if needed. And this encouragement needed to be ongoing, and continues today. Alaskans experienced several months of strong aftershocks, and it was incredibly helpful to have officials, mental health professionals, and friends continue to name how difficult this was for all of us. Being able to share that trauma, without fear of someone expressing the need to “get over it,” was empowering. When those negative sentiments were unfortunately shared, often through social media, the public outcry was swift. Many more voices were validating the difficulty of what we were experiencing, and encouraging people to keep sharing. 

Communities care for one another by sharing. Communities experiencing trauma may need to share more. This sharing might be in the form of basic needs, and incredible generosity is often seen during times of much greater tragedy. However, generous sharing can also be the validation of a vast range of emotions and making available safe spaces to process and recover. These safe spaces can be formal or informal. Therapists and trauma counselors reported high numbers of individuals and families reaching out for help. School counselors and teachers took ample time in classrooms, encouraging children to tell their stories and process their fears. Experts wrote articles in the paper with advice on how to manage anxiety, and local activity centers and museums offered free admission to encourage play and community togetherness. 

Informal sharing was also quite helpful, and continues to be so. Churches and faith leaders hosted conversations and meals, checked on homebound members and offered continuous availability to listen. And through the months of continued shaking, friends, family and acquaintances reached out in person, through calls or texts, or through social media to offer ongoing support. Many Alaskans are transplants from other states, and it was of great comfort to continue to hear from others in the “lower 48” that our ongoing stress was seen and not forgotten. Solidarity and empathy were offered and received, easing some of the burden. 

While traumatic events will always be unique, needing specific response, it is in sharing that we heal. We need to keep caring for each other...in Alaska, in Puerto Rico, in Haiti...and beyond. Find your way to help. Visible suffering may help guide you to know how and what to share in more vulnerable places, but remember to also ask about what is not seen. We are in this together.

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My eyes fluttered awake. Feeling the early morning chill, I pulled on a sweater and drowsily trekked into the living room. I turned on the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights, filled my diffuser with a festive scent, and flipped on the morning news. I smiled as the weather reporter announced a light snowfall would be coming later in the afternoon. As the hosts transitioned to a new segment, detailing creative ways to wrap presents, I spotted a small byline at the bottom of the screen: storms continue in the midwest, four killed, more injured. All the while, above the streamline of critical news stories, two smiling ladies taught viewers how to decorate wrapping paper with glitter glue.

The winter season brings the arrival of many festivities. I’ll be the first to admit, I love celebrations and cookies and chats by a warm fire. However, I’ve begun to ask if my “perfect” holiday picture, provides any room for the realities of everyday life. This semester, I had the opportunity to be an intern with ICTG, hearing accounts from multiple survivors of trauma. I learned that at every level of society, among young and old, powerful and powerless, trauma occurs and it does not respect a schedule. This December, likely, we all have neighbors who, in some way, are mourning, anxious, depressed,  hungry, heartbroken, angry, or without support. Many of us may even identify with these things above, yet choose to, or feel we must, ignore or compartmentalize our pain. So where in the holiday season is there room for suffering?

This past month, I was introduced to the writing of Viktor Frankl, a Jewish psychologist who was imprisoned in a series of Nazi concentration camps during World War II. In his book, Man’s Search For Meaning, Frankl describes his process of making meaning out of his suffering. He continues to encourage his readers and friends to view suffering as not an end to one’s story. Although terrible and painful, suffering also shapes a person into who they will become. He recalls speaking this message to a room of prisoners, as everyone lays in their bunks, in relative despair. He states “I told my comrades...that human life, under any circumstances, never ceases to have meaning and that this infinite meaning of life includes suffering and dying, privation and death...They must not lose hope but should keep their courage in the certainty that the hopelessness of our struggle did not detract from its dignity and its meaning.” (p.83)

Although Frankl acknowledges selfishness as an abundant means of survival in the camps, sacrifice was also something he witnessed. Despite the cruel conditions of the camp, some prisoners were able to create a community of strength. Frankl includes tales of prisoners sharing moments of humor, cooks who gave him extra scoops of peas, prayer groups and religious readings, and officers who occasionally showed compassion. It’s as Frankl shares: “the salvation of man is through love and in love” (p. 37). In one crucial scene, Frankl has to choose between escaping the camp or to continuing to care for patients in the hospital tent. When provided with an opportunity to choose to love himself or love another, Frankl chooses to love his patients. He attests to have “gained an inward peace that I had never experienced before. I returned to the hut, sat down on the boards at my countryman’s feet and tried to comfort him” (p. 59). To receive love, and return love, he found peace even in the midst of great trauma.

The life of Viktor Frankl is a testament to the healing power of healthy community, a chemistry that Frankl shows can be established even within the most dire of circumstances. Throughout my semester with ICTG, I have seen the beautiful, slow beginnings of recovery in communities in Southern California. After wildfires, mass shootings, and other forms of collective trauma, survivors and responders have worked hard to create support networks for those suffering. As I have attended some of these events, including serving survivors of the Conception Dive Boat tragedy, learning from first responders of the Thomas Fire and Montecito 1/9 Debris Flow, observing community care events related to the Rt 91 Las Vegas shooting, Borderline Bar shooting, and Hill and Woolsey Fires, and providing care to children impacted by the Cave Fire in Santa Barbara, I have witnessed the strength of love and compassion amongst survivors and their family and friends. They have taken time to listen to one another’s stories, to celebrate birthdays and mourn losses, and to dream about better futures they can create together. Their conversations exude grit, real hurt, but also great joys. In all of this, I have been amazed and challenged to rethink my approach to suffering. I am beginning to see suffering not only as pain and loss, but also as an invitation to grow and to deepen relationships with others.

I recognize that I am only just beginning to grasp what that means. So, this holiday season, I want to reflect on my year’s experiences honestly. I desire to acknowledge both the joy and suffering in my midst. I hope to create compassionate spaces in which others can feel welcome to do the same. May we all accept the approach of the holidays as an opportunity to practice healthy community living, to be supportive for those struggling, and to draw strength from relationships when we ourselves are in need. For the communities who have lost loved ones because of storms this week, we see you, we acknowledge your pain, and we mourn with you. May you be surrounded with the support and comfort you need this holiday season.