The boy spoke of a crocodile. It was the size of a continent, crawling all over the earth. “It had to keep eating and eating. It would never stop, but would never have eaten enough,” he said. “And you could smell its dying flesh as it still ate.”

The 10-year-old was speaking to Caroline Hickman, a therapist who specializes in the role of the climate and ecological crises on our mental health, and a member of the U.K.-based Climate Psychology Alliance’s Executive Committee. She was interviewing children across England and the world about their views on climate change. Before their interview, Hickman writes in a research paper, the boy’s father told her his son probably wouldn’t have much to say about the topic. As they spoke, however, the child’s sophisticated wisdom surfaced with the image of the crocodile, a stand-in for the consumptive reality of the carbon-based global economy. 

We all know the story: fuelled by the burning of fossil fuels, the past 200 years of human history have seen unprecedented economic growth, especially for the wealthy few. Yet this same engine of growth — often, in the form of literal internal combustion engines — is also powering the planet’s destruction. 

Earth’s climate warmed an average of two degrees Farenheit between 1880 and today. Two-thirds of that warming has occurred since 1975. Today, polar ice caps are melting six times faster than they were in the 1990s. In the next thirty years, these changes will occur even more quickly, with some American cities projected to see an increase of five degrees Fahrenheit in peak summer temperatures by 2015. This warming will likely be accompanied by increasingly intense storms; a .13 inch yearly rise in sea levels that will threaten millions of people living in the world’s islands, coastal, and low lying lands; and increased heat waves that have already taken hundreds of thousands of human lives. 

Scientists greet us with increasingly urgent warnings: unless we take drastic action, human civilization as we know it will change unfathomably by the end of this century. Yet global political and corporate leadership remains woefully stalled. Meanwhile, most everyday people hardly know where to begin addressing such a profound and fast-approaching calamity. 

Climate change is more than a policy or technological challenge. It’s also a moral and emotional one. When contemplating the effects of climate change, we are forced to ask: how do we emotionally process a transformation that threatens everything we have ever known?

Some of us choose to deny that climate change is happening altogether. Many of us, meanwhile, struggle in the midst of more acute climate-related trauma: displaced from our homes by a storm or a forest fire; impoverished or famished due to flooding; even mourning loved ones lost to COVID-19, which in itself is related to the rapid decline in biodiversity. The rest of us are somewhere in the middle, ignoring the problem except for brief flares of terror or a crackle of background anxiety. 

“We’re noticing the flowers are coming up earlier, and that’s unnerving to us, it’s strange, it’s a dark kind of surrealness,” said Britt Wray, an author, broadcaster, and researcher who studies the relationship between mental health and the climate crisis. Yet to take these observations to their natural conclusion, said Wray, is too intense for most of us. “Many people can imagine the very worst outcome: near-term societal collapse or human extinction.”

Over the past few years, a group of therapists and researchers have been developing a new branch of psychological research and practice to help us contend with this crisis. Called climate-aware therapy, its aim is to support people in confronting, processing, and living with and through the nearly-incomprehensible reality of the climate emergency. In doing so, therapists say, they hope to inspire us all to contend with the reality of climate change and its deep relationship to racial and economic exploitation — and, hopefully, spur us to action in order to, just maybe, secure the future of our planet. 

“The future became shattered”: The Age of Eco-Anxiety

It can begin with crawling nervousness or heaviness in your stomach. Sometimes, it’s a stab of horror. For Britt Wray, the fear, worry, and sadness over climate change was intense and lasted for several years. “I needed to figure out what was going on, why I had all this existential terror,” said Wray. That set her researching her current interest: eco-anxiety and eco-grief, the anxiety and sadness we feel when we consider the current and future impacts of the climate crisis.

We know climate change affects the physical well-being of our planet and bodies, in the form of increased extreme weather, agricultural failure, and extreme heat, to name just a few. But it also affects our psychological, social, and spiritual wellness. 

Elizabeth Allured, a climate-aware therapist, professor, and co-president of the Climate Psychology Alliance of North America, identifies two main sources of emotional distress related to climate change. The first is acute stress caused by climate-related trauma. This can be the result of one intense event, like a hurricane, but it can also be the result of chronic climate-related stress over time, like the effects of urban overheating. In the long term, climate-related displacement from a homeland, income source, or traditional occupation can create deep grief and lead to a loss of meaning, identity, and community. These events can lead to substance use, PTSD, depression, and chronic anxiety. 

The second kind of climate-related stress is what Allured calls “pre-traumatic stress:” the worry we feel when we consider the potential future impacts of climate change. This may take the form of what climate-aware therapists call “eco-anxiety,” or a persistent worry about the well-being of the planet and life. Eco-anxiety can be a lower-level, constant background anxiety or unease that builds over time. But it can also be an experience of profound distress. “Often it’s about the existential terror that sets in when people have their full awakening to the climate data,” Wray said. “Many people recount having this moment when they realize that their entire sense of themselves and the future became shattered.”

Another common feeling is eco-grief, which Wray describes as mourning for what is already lost, and what might be lost in the future, as a result of climate change. We may feel eco-grief about the extinction of animal or plant species, the perishing of coral reefs, the way flooding has affected our community, or about a future without access to our homeland. 

Many people who experience eco-anxiety must also deal with the secondary pain of having loved ones deny the seriousness of their feelings, said Hickman. This is particularly a problem for Hickman’s younger clients, many of whom express disappointment in an older generation that has not addressed the climate crisis head-on. “You have the pain of not feeling connected to the people around you because they don’t empathize or understand. So they blame you, they silence you,” Hickman said. 

“We are the half being killed off”: Climate Change And Inequality

For some, eco-anxiety manifests as fear of future environmental calamity. But for many of those living in the Global South, and for Black, indigenous, and other people of color, as well as low-income people living in the Global North, the reality of climate catastrophe is occurring now. 

“When you think about who gets hit the hardest — whether it’s a storm, sea level rise, flooding, drought, lack of access to water, extreme heat — it is always, unfortunately, those communities that live in environments that are really hazardous to their health,” said Jalonne L. White-Newsome, senior program officer at the Kresge Foundation and an academic who has researched the link between climate change and health inequity. 

Ironically, it’s often those who contribute the least to climate change who suffer the most. Consider the relationship between climate change and global inequality. The United States contains only 4% of the world’s population, but is responsible for 12% of the world’s current greenhouse gas emissions. If you look at the cumulative impact since 1750, the United States has contributed almost double the amount of carbon into the atmosphere of any other country. Meanwhile, people are experiencing some of the most extreme effects of climate change in places like the Maldives, an island nation which is responsible for only .004% of worldwide greenhouse gas emissions, but which is facing imminent destruction due to sea level rise. 

When Hickman interviewed children in the Maldives about climate change, they articulated the aching inequality of their experience. “Climate change is like Thanos in The Avengers End Game, whose ideology is to kill off half the planet so the other half can thrive,” one child said. “Trouble is, we are the half being killed off.” 

In the United States, Black, indigenous, and Latinx Americans are more vulnerable to the effects of climate change than white Americans, as they already experience significantly degraded air quality and lack the wealth needed to rebuild securely after disasters.

White-Newsome has witnessed this first hand. She began researching climate change when she was caring for her grandparents in Detroit, and noticed the intense summer heat. Her work demonstrated the devastating effect rising summer temperatures were having on residents of poorly weatherized homes in low-income neighborhoods. “I was really struck and stunned at the lack of adaptation that our city, the city of Detroit, was undergoing to really deal with the impacts of climate change,” White-Newsome said. 

More than a decade later, White-Newsome is still contending with climate change’s disproportionate impact on marginalized communities, both in her research and her family. In 2019, her parents, who live in a predominantly African-American neighborhood in Detroit, experienced three incidents of storm-related flooding in their basement. Researchers say that increased rainfall and flooding in Detroit is a likely result of climate change; many Detroit residents blame the city for a lack of proactive water management. White-Newsome points to historic racist practices like redlining to explain ongoing inequality in climate response. 

White-Newsome’s parents lost a 60-year-old family bible in the flood, a piece of tangible heritage they can’t get back. They’ve also lost time, energy, money, and their sense of security in trying to get the city to make water infrastructure repairs. “It’s all these pieces: Loss of identity. Loss of community. Loss of stuff. Loss of peace. Loss of income,” White-Newsome said. “Those repeated incidents of trauma cause stress, and stress kills — particularly in African American people.” 

Because of this, White-Newsome stresses the need to simultaneously address climate change and racial injustice. “When you talk about achieving justice and racial equity, it’s really addressing the sources and the root causes of the problem, which is really not climate change,” said White-Newsome. “It’s institutional, structural racism.”

“We’re sleepwalking into disaster”: The Psychology of Climate Denial

Not everyone shares White-Newsome’s urgency in addressing the intertwined evils of climate change and racism. As of 2019, researchers estimated that the top five oil and gas companies invested $200 million a year in attempting to block policies addressing human-caused climate change. This lobbying has done incalculable damage on public efforts to ameliorate the worst effects of climate disaster. Yet, at very least, thes companies’ hold on public opinion seems to be waning: in 2019, 75% of Americans agreed that humans caused climate change.

Overt denial isn’t the only way human beings avoid confronting the enormity of what we are doing to our planet. The scale of climate crisis is incomprehensibly vast, taking place at a planetary level and effecting all human beings. At the same time, we can see its effects in our daily lives: forest fires, warmer winters, more storms. Because of the enormity of the problem, many of us feel powerless, as the daily routines of our lives seem incompatible with a carbon-free future. 

One way we deal with this overwhelming tension, according to climate-aware therapists, is through emotional numbing. We may avoid thinking of climate change, or we may think about it for a moment but then push the thought away. “It’s a disavowal which is a way of protecting against the full horror, and the terror, and the enormity,” said Hickman. “Meanwhile, we’re sleepwalking into disaster.” This avoidance can lead to further paralysis and inaction, when the world desperately needs massive, decisive action. 

Therapists, too, can succumb to this avoidance. Therapists who are not climate-aware, or who have not deeply introspected on their feelings about climate change, may feel overwhelmed when clients bring it up, and may deny clients’ feelings and needs. This can lead to further distress and isolation for people who seek therapy for help dealing with eco-anxiety and climate-related trauma, said Allured. “We need each other to really be able to tolerate thinking about this.”

“The gift of uncertainty”: Seeking Climate-Aware Support 

When Allured became a therapist, she noticed a widespread reluctance from other therapists around addressing climate change head-on. “I think many clinicians were just feeling too overwhelmed by the topic to address it,” she said. That’s a problem for people seeking therapy to process eco-anxiety. 

“Many therapists who are not explicitly climate-aware have told people who go in for help with eco-distress, ‘Well, let’s look at your thoughts around that. Oh, that’s catastrophic thinking,’” Wray said. But climate change is very real — and worrying about it is a sign of sensitivity and awareness. “It’s a healthy emotional response,” Hickman said. 

In contrast to conventional therapeutic models, which tend to interpret human emotions through an individualistic, biological or psychological lens, climate-aware therapy stresses the importance of human beings’ connections to our environment, and the interrelation of climate, inequality, and mental health. “Climate crisis-aware psychotherapy names this as a whole systemic problem which is political, which is about injustice,” Hickman said. 

Rather than treat eco-anxiety as a disorder, many climate-aware therapists encourage clients to reframe it as an experience of profound empathy. It’s a refusal to shut the self away from the suffering of the natural world and fellow human beings. “You’re connected to their vulnerability and so it’s actually a sign of your humanity,” said Wray. Rather than attempting to rid their clients of eco-anxiety, climate-aware therapists may instead support them in developing coping skills so they can remain aware without being overwhelmed. 

Climate-aware therapists also emphasize eco-anxiety as an inspiration toward meaningful action. “It makes me crazy when people talk about “curing eco anxiety” or “fixing eco anxiety.” I don’t want to cure it. I want everyone in the world to feel it,” Hickman said. “If everybody felt this way we’d be acting on it immediately.”

While climate-aware therapy has been profoundly useful for some, it remains out of reach of the majority of people contending with the trauma of environmental degradation. “Therapy costs money. It tends to be a rather enfranchised client who goes and seeks it out — typically a white, middle-class person with a university education,” Wray said. This ironically leaves those most affected,low-income people of color in the U.S. and the Global South — unable to access the mental health resources that could be vital in supporting their well-being. Even when they can access therapy, the overwhelming whiteness of the field — in 2015, 86% of U.S. psychologists were white — can leave people of color feeling alienated and unseen. 

Yet marginalized people have always found strength in community support, whether that be in family, spirituality, or grassroots mental health practices. “What I’ve tried to really think about and do and support is: what are the ways that communities can begin to support their own resiliency?” White-Newsome said. 

At best, climate-aware therapy, and other forms of community support, can help us move from what Wray calls “the terror of uncertainty” to “the gift of uncertainty.” That, in these terms, can enable us to see possibility where we once only saw doom. “You find the resilience tools, you find ways to stretch yourself and your window of tolerance, so to speak,” said Wray. “And then you imagine new futures.” 

“I wouldn’t be in this work if I didn’t have hope”: Mourn, Then Activate 

Addressing climate change requires two kinds of activism — the kind that happens in the world, and the kind that happens in our hearts. It’s only when we explore, process, and ultimately accept our feelings about climate change that we can take action from a grounded and deliberate place. “There’s a natural progression that leads to action, when you’re fully aware and you’re not in the immediate shock,” Allured said. 

By taking collective action, not just around climate change but also around the racial, economic, and gender inequalities that underlie it, we create our own reason for hope. This action can look like many things: talking to your loved ones about their feelings about climate change; joining a neighborhood group advocating for better flood protections; pushing for fossil fuel divestment. For some grassroots groups White-Newsome works with, it looks like a network of restoration parks, community-based green spaces that both help to relieve the effects of urban heat islands, and give locals somewhere to more safely be together during the pandemic. 

Accepting the reality of climate change means coming to terms with the fact that, more likely than not, the next few centuries of human life will look unrecognizable to us. It means confronting the fact that human beings might not continue to exist at all. 

Yet the mental health workers and researchers who work on climate change every day have found ways to retain their faith in human beings. “Life is life, and I’m not too Pollyanna-ish, but I wouldn’t be in this work and this space for this long if I didn’t have hope,” said White-Newsome.

For Hickman, living in climate awareness is a balancing act between the horror of environmental degradation and the hope of human empathy; between the gift of the current moment and the tenuous blessing of the future. “It’s about embracing the reality of what we’re in spiritually, soulfully, psychologically,” said Hickman. ““Yes, I’m here now. So what do I do?’”

Exercises

Climate change is a huge and often terrifying topic, but it is possible to confront the reality of environmental degradation with deep awareness. Here is some advice from the experts I interviewed for this piece.

Reflect on your eco-anxiety

Allured recommends journaling about how you are feeling about the climate, then taking some space to brainstorm your coping skills: 

• How have you dealt with adversity in the past? 
• Who in your life is supportive? 
• What activities help you remain calm? 

“Enlarge on those supports — whether it’s walking in nature, or staying in touch with family,” Allured said.

If you’re feeling your anxiety about climate change spiral out of control, Allured recommends focusing on the current moment. “Start by noticing what’s okay right now,” she said. That might mean focusing on your comfortably full belly, or the pleasant feeling of sun, or your affection for your cat. 

Ask nature

Hickman considers herself an eco-therapist, meaning she emphasizes the relationship between the environmental climate, and our inner emotional climate. She encourages her clients to practice deep listening to their own intuition and to the natural world. 

If you’re feeling conflicted about climate change, Hickman recommends finding a tree. “I want you to sit with your back against the tree and ask the tree what to do,” Hickman said. “Get advice from the tree. You’re not in this alone. You’re in it with the tree. You’re in it with your dog.” Notice how the leaves look; notice how they move in the breeze and whether the tree seems to need water.

The point is to begin to expand your awareness into the world, and to build your relationship with the environment that many human beings have alienated ourselves from. Rather than giving into either panic or apathy, “The reality is in the middle:the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the existential horror and beauty of what it’s like to live in a changing world,” said Hickman. “To have some wonder in the world as it changes.”

Seek support

Wray, and many people she has interviewed, have struggled with eco-anxiety. For many of them, the feeling got better with time. Another thing that helped, besides time: community. Another thing that helped, besides time: community. Wray suggests joining a climate support group, finding a climate-aware therapist, or simply connecting with friends who also care about climate change. “Finding solidarity and community is a real balm,” she said.

Also take time to invest in your greatest source of support: yourself. “Make sure that you’re taking care of yourself,” said White-Newsome. “Whatever you need to do, whatever outlets, whatever therapy, whatever way you can take care of your mental and physical well-being is super important.”

Take action

Climate change is such a big issue, it can be difficult to know where to start taking action. White-Newsome recommends showing up for all kinds of justice, especially racial justice, in your interpersonal relationships — especially if you have racial privilege. “I encourage all of my white brothers and sisters to be true allies,” said White-Newsome. “Speak up and speak out.” 

White-Newsome also recommends learning more about climate and environmental struggles in your community. Ask yourself: “How is climate change impacting my community? Do I know what my air quality is? Do we have buses that run on renewable energy versus diesel? Do I have electricity bills that are out of control?” Zero in on the issue that most speaks to you — then join a local group working on that issue. 

The post Wellness in a World On Fire: Therapy Tackles Climate Change appeared first on Talkspace.

Yet the people most impacted by this violence had a difficult time accessing therapy — and even when they did, inbuilt bias in the system often caused more harm than good. “Folks would tell me, ‘I’m terrified of therapists,’” Woodland said. He needed to know that the therapists he worked with would actually empathize with and be able to treat activists’ needs. “For five years, I was like ‘somebody should start a national network,’” said Woodland. “At a certain point, my ancestors and spirit were like, ‘That’s supposed to be you.’”

So Woodland founded the National Queer and Trans Therapists of Color Network (NQTTCN), a database of dozens of queer and trans mental health workers of color that spans the entire United States. 

A Shift Toward Healing Justice

Woodland’s group takes a healing justice view toward mental wellness. The framework was developed by Black feminists and other organizers of color in groups such as the Kindred Southern Healing Justice Collective. Healing justice emphasizes the historical violence — such as colonization and slavery — and contemporary oppression — such as the prison industrial complex — that shape collective well-being. 

“Our mental health is impacted by our entire ecosystem,” said Yolo Akili Robinson, Founder and Executive Director of Black Emotional and Mental Health Collective, a group of wellness workers dedicated to the healing of Black communities. “Healing justice really says in order for us to heal, we must transform the entire ecosystem.” 

Healing justice challenges everyone in the mental health field to acknowledge that wellness isn’t just individual: it is inherently political. That’s because our health is shaped by our identities and our access to resources. But that’s also because the mental health establishment itself has long been complicit in the criminalization and abuse of marginalized people in the United States, especially communities color and LGBTQ communities. 

In order to truly do no harm, therapists must acknowledge this history. They also must develop crucial skills to not just affirm marginalized clients, but to support the reality that healing goes beyond individualized treatment and encompasses the lived, political and economic conditions of our world.

Who Defines Mental Illness?

“Where I come from, social workers take the babies away,” said Woodland. Born and raised in Baltimore, Woodland went to social work school in his twenties, after encountering deep mental health needs among the justice system-involved, street economy-engaged, and HIV-positive people he was organizing with. 

Yet Woodland felt a deep tension in and with his new role. Even when he went to social work school, “Politically, I was very clear that I didn’t want to be a social worker,” Woodland said. Eventually, however, he had to come to terms with his new position, and find a way to practice social work that challenged the fraught history of the field. “I’m accountable for the harm even though I didn’t create the harm,” he said. 

Since its origins in the 1800s, social work — and the mental health field in general — has been intertwined with the systemic racism, sexism, ableism, and homo- and transphobia that have defined much of American history. Many of the so-called “diagnoses” used to classify mental illness throughout American history have been rooted in the desire of white, male landowners to control women and people of color. “Public health has historically been about public control,” said Robinson.

Racism and fictitious mental illness

Since the origination of American slavery in 1619, white enslavers invented stereotypes of Black people as “naturally” violent, restive, or unintelligent as a means of justifying their enslavement. In the 1850s, as abolition gained in popularity, supporters of slavery invented a new psychological diagnosis to justify white control of Black people: “Dysaesthesia aethiopica,” a fictitious, racist malady that they claimed struck Black people who sought freedom. 

After the Civil War, the migration of newly freed African Americans from the South to the Northeast and Midwest for work threatened white elites’ racist sense of “public order.” At the same time, an influx of immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe, coupled with a lack of government poverty relief, led to overcrowded, deeply impoverished urban immigrant neighborhoods. The native-born upper classes labelled these communities as hotbeds of vice, and many of them founded “settlement houses,” university or charity-based organizations that championed new, scientific theories of population management and public health. 

Many of these groups provided concrete poverty relief and medical care to impoverished communities. Yet many were also sympathetic to eugenics, a racist and ableist ideology, which argues that some human beings and qualities (usually Europeans) are “naturally superior” to others. Aid workers often saw Black and Southern and Eastern European clients as “dirty” and in need of “civilizing,” and established social service systems that often controlled and punished poor clients more than they supported them.

Black resistance continued to be pathologized well into the 20th century, with some white psychologists claiming that Black Power and Civil Rights activists suffered from “protest psychosis.” This racist pathologization of Black resistance, coupled with enduring racial trauma, has led to elevated rates of mental health diagnoses in Black communities to this day. 

Gender and sexual control 

The psychological establishment has long been hostile to women and LGBTQ people, as well. Many so-called mental illnesses, like “hysteria,” were historically defined to stigmatize women who didn’t adhere to social norms. Sigmund Freud first designated homosexuality as a sign of improper development in the late 19th century, and when the American Psychiatric Association published the first Diagnostic and Statistical Manuel in 1952, it characterized homosexuality as a disorder. 

Thanks to queer activism, the diagnosis was lifted from the DSM in 1973, but harmful and pseudoscientific practices like gay conversion therapy persist to this day. Transgender identity also remains highly medicalized, which Woodland says creates unfair barriers for trans people seeking care. “Gender dysphoria is still a diagnosis that is required to receive gender affirming care,” said Woodland. “Do cis women who are getting cosmetic surgery have to see a therapist before they alter their bodies? No.”

Mental health and mass incarceration

This history has translated to the modern-day criminal justice system. From childhood, Black people are far more likely to be perceived as having behavioral difficulties than their white counterparts, part of the school-to-prison pipeline. Today, prisons are the largest mental healthcare providers in the country, and people with mental illness are sixteen times more likely to be killed by police as those without. 

“A great proportion of black and brown people’s first engagement with the mental health industrial complex is through the prison industrial complex,” said Robinson. Numerous systems, like child protective services and ICE, actually feed Black and brown people into the prison system by criminalizing poverty, rather than providing families with needed resources. 

Beyond Culturally Competent Care

“Being QTBIPOC, you have to live with a pretty high level of fear around the community, the family, the state,” said Woodland. “You can’t really be an apolitical QTBIPOC person.” 

To address the health disparities resulting from these inequalities, mental health providers use a framework of “culturally competent care.” This emphasizes understanding and respecting the cultures and values of clients. But Robinson and Woodland say that providers need to go beyond simple cultural sensitivity, and instead address the ways in which mental health is inherently about power — and thus, inherently political. 

“A lot of therapists might talk about social justice, but fundamentally in the work that’s happening, in the therapeutic relationship, we don’t get a lot of training and support around the way those institutions and legacies live in our individual bodies and in our collective bodies,” said Woodland. 

To address this, Robinson’s and Woodland’s organizations both train mental health practitioners in a healing justice framework. Rather than considering racism and sexism individual ills, says Robinson, he assumes that all mental health practitioners have internalized racist and sexist ideas from our broader society, and supports them in addressing and shedding these attitudes so they can provide better care. 

Meanwhile, Woodland’s organization, the NQTTCN, focuses on connecting queer and trans people of color with the people most likely to empathize with their experiences: queer and trans therapists of color. Even the act of therapists listing themselves in the database is political. “We tell practitioners to out themselves as part of the directory,” said Woodland. “That itself, especially in this political moment, is putting us at risk.”

Finally, healing justice groups like BEAM and NQTTCN help support forms of healing that fall outside of the conventional mental health system. “Therapy is really built on this kind of middle class model — this idea that someone can get away from their life for an hour a week and sit down with someone,” said Robinson. In contrast, communities have always had grassroots healing practices, from church to herbal remedies to rituals. “We fundamentally believe that therapy is a very important tool, but it’s only one tool for our healing,” said Woodland. “Our people have had traditions and cultural practices since the beginning of time to address violence, to address trauma, to address harm.” 

For many people of color, histories of colonization or enslavement have led to the banning or appropriation of these traditions — for example, through the criminalization of marijuana, which has sacred or healing properties in many cultures. Yet these care traditions, including food and spiritual traditions, have also sustained some of the most powerful movements for liberation.To encourage these grassroots healing practices, BEAM provides funds to Black Southern wellness workers, including doulas and community gardeners, and also hosts mental health training programs for community leaders like barbers, teachers, and activists. 

Healing for Liberation

Mental health is expansive: it is shaped by all the histories and systems that shape how we experience the world. That’s why, according to healing justice practitioners, we can only achieve well-being through systemic change. “When we see folks fighting for clean water, that is a mental health intervention,” said Robinson. “When I see Black Lives Matter shutting down streets, that’s a mental health intervention.”

Ideally, says Woodland, we would all have free, universal healthcare. But until that is a reality, he credits the daily work of community mental health practitioners with creating the kind of care communities deserve — now. From political violence to the death and economic fallout of the coronavirus pandemic, this year, more people than ever are experiencing the kind of deep harm that many people of color have endured since the United States’ founding. 

While he wishes it didn’t take so much crisis to wake people up to the need for deep change, Woodland also sees the collective response to our current moment — including the rise of social movements and mutual aid — as an example of the deep power communities have to create wellness. “We don’t have to look too far in the future to find examples that point us towards what’s possible,” said Woodland. “The reality is despite the despair of this moment, our people are the antidote.”

The post Therapy is Political. It’s High Time Therapists Acknowledge This. appeared first on Talkspace.

Today, Swift was responding to a call from a man who was experiencing homelessness, and who was interested in seeking help for drug and alcohol use. He had recently been in jail, and was released only to find that the local government had raided the encampment where he had been living. All of his possessions were gone.

Swift wished she could offer her neighbor sustainable housing, but aside from Eugene’s one emergency shelter — already beyond capacity — the city lacks free and affordable housing options. “I had nowhere to bring this person,” Swift said. There was nothing she could do but sit there with him as he cried, mourning the loss of everything he owned in the world, and offer him a tarp and a water bottle.

The Looming Coronavirus Eviction Crisis

As of 2019, Eugene, Oregon, the primarily working class community where CAHOOTS is based, had the highest per-capita homeless population in the United States. But Eugene is far from exceptional. Even as communities across the country advocate for alternatives to policing to support people without permanent shelter, America’s already-alarming housing crisis continues to deepen.

As of January 2019, almost 600,000 Americans were unhoused on any given night. This represents a significant increase in homelessness over the past few years, much of which is driven by increasing housing instability for low-income people in the state of California. At its core, the rise in homelessness represents an increasingly vast gap between rent and real estate prices, and stagnating wages, especially for working-class Americans and Americans of color.

The coronavirus pandemic is exacerbating this long-term trend. “I have a very great concern about what is going to happen for the next few months,” said Swift. While federal relief programs prevented some of the worst effects of job loss in the first months of the pandemic, the recent expiration of expanded unemployment is likely to reverse these small gains. Black, Latino, and Native American communities are being hit especially hard.

At the same time, the expiration of the federal eviction ban puts millions of renters at risk of losing their housing. While some major cities have local eviction moratoriums, others have left renters with no protection. “We’re already seeing the eviction fallout,” Swift said.

Housing Is Mental Health Care

The eviction fallout spells widespread mental health crisis. Eviction, housing instability, and homelessness severely worsen mental and physical health, especially during a time when we’re being told to stay inside as much as possible.

Many of the poorest Americans live one medical crisis or layoff away from eviction. More than half of renters are rent burdened, meaning they spend more than ⅓ of their income on housing. This ongoing stress leads to an increased risk of chronic conditions like high blood pressure, depression, anxiety, and substance use. Women of color, especially Black mothers, are at a particularly high risk of eviction due to poverty, which in turn puts families at risk of economic and health difficulties lasting years into the future.

The trauma of eviction and foreclosure affect the entire community, leading to greater levels of interpersonal violence. This economic and emotional trauma can lead to chronic homelessness and even less access to physical and mental healthcare. “A week on the streets could mean a life on the streets,” said Swift.

That’s why Swift, and other outreach workers, support a slogan that advocates have been using since the AIDS crisis of the 80s and 90s: housing is healthcare. “Our refrain as CAHOOTS workers is you can support us all day, all night,” said Swift, “But unless you have places for us to bring people, we’re not effective.”

You Can Support Your Neighbors

It’s easy to feel powerless when faced with such a big crisis. But the truth is that we can all stand in solidarity with people facing eviction and homelessness in our communities, whatever our housing status.

By listening to, learning from, and advocating for and with our neighbors, we can pressure those in power to prioritize housing access, while building the systems and skills to support people in our communities who are facing housing-related mental health strain.

Listen to unhoused people

Unlike the traditional medical and mental health system, which has historically disregarded the consent of poor and marginalized people, CAHOOTS medics strive to work with the communities they serve. “We don’t show up to a situation knowing what the solution is,” said Swift. “We’re going to tailor the outcome to every individual need.”

Similarly, you can talk to and get to know the people living in our neighborhoods who do not have housing, and ask them what they need. You can also follow and support organizations led by people currently or previously experiencing homelessness.

Advocate for free and affordable housing

“If you ask somebody who lives on the street, ‘What do you wish you had for a housing situation?’ not a single one of them has said they want a homeless shelter,” said Swift.

Instead, she said, most of the unhoused people she supports want some kind of long-term housing that offers them both autonomy and community. “They need a place to stay,” said Swift. “That is an objective solution.”

Swift advises learning about housing policy in your area, which includes educating yourself about the history of zoning restrictions, like redlining, and the groups that influence housing policy. What part of your local government makes decisions regarding housing? Does your block have a neighborhood association, and if so, what is their track record on questions of affordability and access? What kinds of mental health support is offered in your area?

Get to know your local government

Swift doesn’t just advocate for housing access and mental health on the job. Outside of work, she’s also a community organizer. “I organize on these issues outside of work, because I cannot handle what I have to see at work,” she said.

In her organizing life, Swift works with friends and neighbors to keep tabs on the local city council. They consistently show up at meetings where housing policy is being discussed, to demonstrate community support.

Swift advises getting to know your local government as well as nearby social services and mental health agencies. “Who are those trusted experts in my community, and what do they need?” she advises asking.

Organize your neighborhood

The Black-led uprisings following the extrajudicial killing of George Floyd have increased public awareness of non-carceral solutions to mental illness and homelessness. But Eugene is still one of the rare American cities that has a program like CAHOOTS.

However, Swift said you don’t have to have a social work degree or be a professional outreach worker to be an advocate for your community’s mental health. You just have to get to know your neighbors and pool your collective strengths.

“What skills do you have?” Swift asks. Perhaps you’re a great cook, and can ask your neighbors if they’d like dinner once a week. Your friend, on the other hand, may be a fashionista who would be happy to organize a community clothing drive.

In order to prevent evictions and support long-term housing, you can connect with your local tenants’ union or form a tenants’ union of your own. Swift also suggests creating your own mini CAHOOTS-style support network. You can gather together to learn about mental health and harm reduction, and create a phone tree or sign up for shifts in case a community member needs support.

Mental Health Is For Everyone

Eviction, and the resulting mental health fallout, is everyone’s problem. That’s because our communities are not stable and healthy until everyone is stable and healthy. “It’s our crisis,” said Swift, of the wave of oncoming evictions. “We’ve created a world that lets that happen.”

As overwhelming as this can feel, it’s also a message of hope. If we, collectively, created a problem, then we can work together to fix it.

The post The COVID-19 Eviction Wave Is a Mental Health Crisis appeared first on Talkspace.

That distinction underlies the way the United States treats unhoused people and people with mental illness. Many of us have walked down the street in our towns or cities only to find someone in the middle of a mental health crisis. Considering that, as of 2017, 18.9% of American adults experience mental illness, with 4.5% of American adults having a serious mental illness, this person may be our family member, or ourselves. What can we do when we encounter a community member in crisis?

Many of us have been taught to look away from a suffering neighbor, whether out of fear, or a sense of powerlessness. If we do reach out, the only help most of us are able to access is 911 and the police. Rather than receiving treatment, however, people with mental illness are frequently criminalized as a result of these encounters. As a result, as of 2014, 20% of incarcerated Americans had a serious mental illness. Sometimes, encounters with police can prove fatal: people with untreated mental illness are 16 times more likely to be murdered by officers than those without.

As a result of long-standing violence against people living on Denver’s streets, Cervantes’ group partnered with other community organizations to create the Support Team Assistance Response (STAR) program. In response to 911 calls concerning mental health crises or homelessness, the program dispatches a van with a mental health clinician and a medic, rather than a cop.

STAR represents one model that community organizers have turned to for inspiration in the wake of the ongoing Black-led uprisings against systemic racism and police abuse. Since late May, following Minneapolis officers’ extrajudicial killing of George Floyd, protestors around the United States have been calling for the defunding and abolishment of the nation’s police departments. For Cervantes, STAR is part of a movement toward defunding police and putting money toward community wellbeing instead. “Having a treatment-focused approach to public safety is so needed,” he says.

Americans With Mental Illness Lack Long-Term Support

At the root of the criminalization of mental illness is the United States’ long-term disinvestment in basic mental health care. As of 2017, only 66.7% of those with serious mental illness had received any kind of psychological care in the past year.

Care is often simply too expensive for people to access, even with insurance. In a 2013 survey, half of people who had a mental illness said that they couldn’t afford basic treatment, like therapy. This is a particular issue for Americans of color, especially indigneous and Black Americans. Because of systemic racism, resulting from the historical trauma of slavery and colonialism, roughly 20% of Black and indigenous people of color havee a mental illness, while experiencing up to three times the rates of poverty as white Americans.

As a result of structural racism and community disinvestment, America’s prisons have become the country’s largest inpatient psychiatric care providers. Of course, prison is not a place where humans thrive — and it’s certainly no place to help people with mental illness. Rampant human rights abuses, including lack of adequate food and medical care; frequent sexual abuse; and use of solitary confinement mean that prisons often cause trauma, rather than heal it.

Partly as a result of these deplorable conditions, up to 21% of incarcerated people have PTSD.

People With Mental Illness Are Vulnerable

In order to improve the way we treat community members with mental illness, we need to change both public policy and our society’s underlying ableist mindset.

Ableist myths

Our society is deeply unequal, rife with racism, ableism, class exploitation, sexism, and homophobia. The bigoted beliefs that result from these systems don’t just impact us on the policy level. They affect us on the level of our emotional reactions, shaping how we see and interact with other people.

Many of us are taught to regard people with mental illness as scary or threatening, especially if they are experiencing psychosis or are behaving in a way that departs from social norms. “We need a community narrative that confronts those feelings and that stigma,” says Cervantes.

Reality

In reality, people with mental illness are more likely to be harmed or to harm themselves than to commit violence against others. People with severe mental illness are ten times more likely than those without mental illness to be victims of violent crime, including domestic violence and assault.

This vulnerability shows up in several ways. Having a mental illness makes people far more likely to experience poverty and homelessness; the trauma of poverty and homelessness often triggers mental illness. As a result, more than 30% of our chronically homeless neighbors experience mental illness. Similarly, people with mental illness are more likely to use drugs, often as a form of self-medication to cope with untreated symptoms, which increases their chance of involvement with the criminal justice system.

When you see an unhoused community member in crisis or behaving in a way that makes you uncomfortable, you are not witnessing a “bad” person who needs to be imprisoned. You are likely witnessing, instead, a person reacting to years of underresourcing, discrimination, and marginalization. Your discomfort is not ultimately caused by that person. Your discomfort is caused by a system that has brutalized your fellow human being.

Some Cities Are Creating Alternatives to Police Responses

Denver’s STAR program isn’t the first of its kind. It was modeled after a similar program, CAHOOTS, a Eugene, Oregon program which has, since 1989, responded to mental health crises with counselors and medics, rather than police. For around one percent of the city’s $238 billion police budget, the program answers 17% of the department’s calls.

For Cervantes, programs like CAHOOTS and STAR shift our conception of public safety away from police and punishment and toward “meeting basic human needs.” Rather than arriving on the scene of a call and immediately assuming an unhoused person or person in crisis is the source of the problem, STAR counselors ask how they can help that person. “They can talk to somebody or navigate an issue,” says Cervantes. “Most of that is seeing if people are okay.”

If that person is experiencing an acute mental health crisis, counselors can take them to a treatment center. If the person is experiencing homelessness, counselors can connect them with shelter resources. If the person uses drugs, they can connect with treatment or harm reduction resources. Cervantes describes one particularly traumatic encounter in which an unhoused person simply needed water to avoid dying of dehydration.

Tellingly, most of the calls STAR has received since its opening pertain to trespassing — largely due to an unhoused person attempting to find shelter. For Cervantes, this indicates a need to invest in community well-being more broadly. His organization advocates for greater investment in substance use treatment, affordable housing, restorative justice programs, and programs supporting people who have been incarcerated.

Take Action In Your Community Today

“As we start to create these programs or think about alternatives to policing, they really should be community-run, community-owned,” says Cervantes. While programs like STAR have yet to take root in most American cities, you can advocate for a more humane and effective response to mental illness and homelessness in your community starting now.

You can attend protests, educate yourself and your loved ones on mental illness and mass incarceration, and hold local politicians accountable for reinvesting funds in mental health and housing support. You can also directly engage in more caring ways with your neighbors, and learn basic de-escalation skills.

Build relationships

People who experience homelessness are valuable members of our communities. If there are unhoused people living in your neighborhood, treat them with the respect you would any neighbor. Say hello, look them in the eye, and wish them a good day.

If an unhoused neighbor asks you for support, pause and look them in the eye when you answer, even if your answer is no. If you do want to help out, remember that your neighbor is the best judge of what they need, so don’t be afraid to ask them. If that person asks for money, and you are comfortable or able to give it, give without strings attached—remember that it’s not your job to judge other people’s spending habits. If you don’t want to or can’t offer them money, ask what else they might need. Food? Socks? A prepaid calling card? A connection to any kind of service?

Listening to our neighbors with an open heart affirms their dignity, and our own.

Learn about local resources

We often rely on police for help because we are simply unaware of alternative options. Get to know what resources are available in your locality for people experiencing homelessness, mental illness, or drug use.

What homeless shelters are around? Are there clinics that offer free mental health care? What organizations are doing mental health outreach or harm reduction for people who use drugs? Find out if your local shelter or harm reduction center has an outreach number for people who may need assistance. You can also volunteer at a local organization to build those connections, lend your skills, and help educate yourself.

De-escalate tense situations

You can learn some basic de-escalation skills to help support yourself and other community members in moments of crisis. If a loved one or a stranger is experiencing a mental health crisis, it’s important to stay calm and react in as non-threatening a manner as possible. People in crisis are often scared; when they do lash out, it’s usually in self-protection against a perceived threat.

First, if someone is in crisis, you can ask onlookers to disperse. A group of people watching or filming someone in crisis can feel extremely threatening and violating for that person. Unless those onlookers are actively helping, or are loved ones of that person, you can ask them to move along in order to prevent the situation from escalating.

Next, try to make your voice and body language as calm and reassuring as possible. Don’t confront the person, yell at them, or try to overpower them; the only time it’s okay to use a raised voice or physical violence is if you are being directly, immediately physically attacked. Speak in simple, soothing sentences. You can directly ask the person what they need and if they would like you to call for help. You can also always leave the space if you feel unsafe or if you feel you lack the tools to help.

Finally, it’s important to know when to exit a situation. If you are feeling bothered by the mere presence of an unhoused person or someone with a mental illness in a community space, that’s your problem, not theirs. They may not be able to leave their location, but you can. Instead of escalating the situation by calling the police, simply walk away.

Community Is For Everyone

Our society’s status quo approach to mental illness — to punish those who are unable to receive care — is not working. Currently, says Cervantes, when we see people in distress, “We want to get rid of that person or dispose of them.” Yet, as many prison abolitionists have pointed out, when someone is incarcerated, they don’t disappear. Instead, they are sent to a place where their trauma often compounds, leading to further violence.

Rather than attempting to discard people whose behavior is merely symptomatic of our society’s broader issues — racism, gender-based violence, wealth inequality — we must solve those root problems.

In one of the richest countries in the world, we have more than enough resources to support the well-being of everyone in our communities, unconditionally and without exception. Hopefully, with the example of the current uprisings, and programs like CAHOOTS and STAR, we will now have the popular will to do so. “We as a community — whether that’s non-profits, neighborhoods, or individuals — really do have the power,” says Cervantes.

The post Why You Shouldn’t Call the Police When Someone Is Having a Mental Health Crisis appeared first on Talkspace.

“When people, particularly white people, look for me, they have the whole ocean to choose from,” Herring says. “They choose me for a reason.”

For clients of color, that reason is often to find a mental health practitioner sensitive to the joy and trauma of being Black in the United States. For white clients, says Herring, it’s often to ensure personal growth and accountability. “When they choose me, they’re choosing me to have critical conversations.”

Since Minneapolis police killed George Floyd in late May, many of us have been having these critical conversations. For many Americans of color, who are coping with recent police violence, on top of disproportionate devastation from the coronavirus pandemic, this is simply the latest installment of 500 years of traumatic, exhausting post-colonization U.S. history. For white Americans, who may not have deeply considered the reality of racism previously, this conversation may feel new and challenging. “People are coming in and they’re hurting,” says Herring.

Staying Sustainable in the Streets

This pain may be particularly sharp for those who have been taking to the streets, as part of the worldwide wave of protests against systemic anti-Black racism that has particularly rocked the United States since late May. All forms of action against systemic racism are important, but the impact of ongoing police violence against protestors — as well as the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of activism — can make protest a deeply traumatic experience.

At the same time, as Black mental health professionals remind us, the struggle against racism is a movement, not a moment — and for people of color, particularly Black people, it’s an involuntary, lifelong struggle for survival. Staying resilient requires self-care and community healing. But Herring also says that racial differences in lived experience require different approaches to resilience. “I’m telling my Black clients and my people of color clients something different than I’m telling my white clients,” says Herring.

Here is some of the advice Herring offers her clients, and all those who are involved in the long-term fight for racial justice.

Resilience for People of Color

Herring emphasizes one central tenet of sustainability for people of color in struggle: rest. While the fight for racial justice is a personal, life-or-death struggle, Herring also reminds her Black clients that the burden of undoing racism should not fall on them. “We’re having to put our lives on the front lines again for something we didn’t start,” she says.

Herring advises clients and protestors of color to acknowledge the trauma they are experiencing, and honor their own selves and need for healing, by practicing self- and community care.

Acknowledge the trauma

News stories about race and racism have dominated the headlines for the past six weeks, but the trauma of racial violence stretches back hundreds of years. “We’ve been yelling but haven’t been heard,” says Herring.

She encourages people of color, and particularly Black Americans, to acknowledge the trauma caused by both the overt acts of violence and the constant hyper-vigilance that violence may be immanent. “There’s negative language around being a victim,” Herring says. But acknowledging that you have been harmed, and that it’s not your fault, can be a huge step toward healing. “I don’t have to label myself a victim but I’ve been a byproduct of victimhood. It’s been an action toward me, not that I am this thing.”

Trauma can look like rage, sadness, or any number of feelings. No matter what you’re experiencing, says Herring, it’s okay to ask for support. “I think reaching out for help if you need it is really important.”

Take breaks

When you’re fighting for your life and the lives of your loved ones and community, it’s normal to want to do as much as you can. But Herring also reminds activists of color to take breaks, and take care of themselves.

Struggle in the streets is physically taxing and emotionally traumatic. Even if you’ve lived your entire life facing the risk of incarceration and interpersonal violence, being tear gassed, arrested, injured, or seeing other people injured is still incredibly difficult — and physically exhausting. “Going out there every day is too much,” says Herring. “Make sure you’re taking days off.”

Taking time to rest is important both for your own well being and for the wellbeing of the movement. Tired, stressed out, and traumatized people aren’t always able to make the most strategic decisions, and exhaustion can escalate conflicts among protestors, which could otherwise be easily resolved.

Many people feel guilt when they take breaks or wonder if they should be doing more. But Herring says it’s important to remember that white supremacy is not your responsibility even though it is a burden that has been placed on you. “We didn’t create this problem, we don’t need to be guilty of it,” she says.

Instead of pushing yourself beyond your capacity, Herring recommends working from your strengths.“What are your gifts?” she asks. “Go from there.”

Finally, rest is an important part of valuing yourself as a whole person, something white supremacy attempts to take away from people of color. “Do nothing, it’s okay. It’s really okay to rest, sleep. It’s really okay,” says Herring.

Be gentle with yourself

It’s hard to keep a tender place inside of you when fighting for your survival, but Herring says it’s important to keep in touch with joy. Self-care and joy are ways to challenge the white supremacist and capitalist assumptions that people of color are only worth as much as their economic productivity or value to white society.

No one is exempt from the struggle with self-criticism; Herring too found herself feeling guilty she wasn’t in the streets, before reminding herself that providing care, like therapy, is also a vital part of any movement.

That’s why Herring recommends being intentional about doing things that give you joy. “Talk to a friend. Go to therapy. Rest. Take a bath,” she says. The world may not be gentle to you, but you can be gentle to yourself.

Resilience for White People

While people of color, and particularly Black Americans, have no choice but to constantly contend with racism, many white people may find themselves engaging with race and activism for the first time.

Because most white people have not had to actively engage with the trauma of racism or experienced state violence the way Black people have, engaging with the movement can feel overwhelming. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed; it’s a sign that you’re learning and growing.

If you’re not new to the fight against racism and have been taking action against white supremacy for some time, now is a chance to deepen your commitment, and practice self-care so you can stay resilient. If you’ve just recently begun engaging in the struggle against racism, now’s the time to develop your stamina so you can continue this work even when it leaves the headlines. Herring has a message for you: “When people finally get it I’m like, welcome to the fold.”

Above all, it’s important to remember that the struggle against white supremacy is not a favor we are doing anyone: it’s a debt we owe due to the material benefits white people as a whole have gained by exploiting Black people and people of color. “White people need to be out there. It’s their doing,” says Herring.

Racial justice work is also something we should do in accordance with our own values and with the understanding that it is neither ethical nor spiritually healthy to benefit from the exploitation of other human beings.

“This is for humanity or not for humanity,” says Herring. “Which side are you going to fall on?”

Practice humility

If you as a white person started doing racial justice work any time after childhood, you’re late to the movement — about five hundred years late. That’s why even as we progress in our understanding of race and activism, we must continue to acknowledge what we don’t know.

If people of color are doubtful of your intentions or critical of your actions in racial justice spaces, that’s something to take seriously and learn from. Herring says that seeing so many white people engaged in the current movement can be positive, but it’s also something that people of color may feel skeptical of due to centuries of betrayal from self-proclaimed white allies. People of color may look at you and wonder, “Can they keep it up?” says Herring.

Rather than getting defensive about feedback, we can choose to hear it openly, think through it, and internalize the lessons. It’s okay to take some time to sit with your feelings of guilt; it’s not okay to get defensive. This is true humility.

After all, if we are truly engaging in this movement from a place of deep conviction in what is right, rather than a desire to gain acclaim, that conviction will only grow through criticism.

Embrace discomfort

Underlying much of white discomfort in racial justice spaces is guilt, both of the harm we may have directly caused through our racial privilege and the harm our ancestors have caused. Herring says it’s okay to simply experience this guilt, without getting defensive or projecting it onto people of color. “Your ancestors have been egregious. Go ahead and sit with it. It is what it is.”

Building our tolerance for discomfort — physical, mental, and emotional — is a huge part of unlearning white supremacy. “Comfort is a privilege,” says Herring. “We have been living in this discomfort forever and you can do it, too.”

Embracing discomfort may mean having difficult conversations about race with white loved ones, challenging your boss or workplace for their racism, or putting yourself in physical danger at the front lines of protest. These are all ways you can use your privileges to help undo white supremacy.

Guilt and discomfort can keep us paralyzed. It’s okay to notice these feelings of discomfort and simply experience them, but it’s also important to continuously challenge yourself to move through them. “Let’s learn to sit in our discomfort and keep it moving,” says Herring.

Grow through mistakes

The reality of it is, you will make mistakes. We all do. Political work is a lifelong commitment, and no one is fully formed and totally secure in their beliefs and actions. We all have privileges that make us insensitive to the experiences of others; for white people, this is privilege around race.

Learning to grow through mistakes, rather than giving up when you mess up, is part of making sure we’re in this as a movement, not as a trend. “Put your seatbelt on, buckle up, and realize this is a lifetime commitment,” says Herring. You’ll never stop messing up, but you will continuously learn, and you will find yourself making better or different mistakes over time. “That is a muscle building activity,” says Herring.

You will build your stamina for struggle and your ability to take criticism without becoming defensive. It won’t always feel good, but it is for good.

It’s a Relay Race

It’s often said that movements are a marathon, not a sprint. But in truth, as I’ve heard protestors say, it’s truly a relay race. We pass the baton to each other when we need to take a breather, and enter the race again strong.

Racism has existed in America for 500 years. Transforming it is the work of many lifetimes, but it must start now. “These systems of oppression have to be broken down,” says Herring.

The struggle will be hard — and always harder for people of color than for white people. At the same time, says Herring, “You can still give yourself permission to hold some hope.”

The post How To Stay Resilient in the Long-Term Fight For Racial Justice appeared first on Talkspace.

The Fourth of July — like most other things these days — is going to be a little different this year. As coronavirus cases surge across the United States following too-rapid reopenings, the need for social distancing makes our usual backyard barbecues and beachside adventures difficult, if not impossible. Meanwhile, the light shows came early in cities across the United States this June, as a mixture of pent-up quarantine frustrations, youthful exuberance, and defiance of government regulations led to an early fireworks boom (and that’s if you don’t believe the conspiracy theories).

The most significant reason this Fourth of July is different, however, is visible across the United States. Since late May, following George Floyd’s extrajudicial killing at the hands of Minneapolis police, a Black-led uprising against institutional racism has swept through America’s streets. This uprising has sent shockwaves even louder than the fireworks’ booms, shaking up everything from the halls of government to the boardrooms of big business to everyday residents’ hearts and minds.

The uprising has also made many Americans, especially white and racially privileged Americans who may not have been accountable for racial injustice previously, grapple with the violent foundations of U.S. democracy. The current uprising — and the racist, anti-Black police brutality, and vastly unequal public health system that instigated it — reveals that racism, gender inequality, and economic exploitation aren’t flaws in the American system: they were part of that system’s founding.

If we care about the mental health and overall well-being of our population as a whole, we must take this Independence Day to understand the fatal inequalities baked into American democracy — and understand that true physical, mental, and spiritual well-being requires liberation for all.

The Pandemic Reveals the Effects of Genocide Against Indigenous Americans

To understand the roots of public health disparities — including mental health disparities — in the United States, we must begin with the country’s founding. Almost three hundred years before the July 4, 1776 signing of the Declaration of Independence, the United States, as we now know it, began with an act of genocide against indigenous people. The legacy of these acts of horrific violence persist in public health disparities for Native Americans today.

Christopher Columbus was not, as many of us are taught in history books, the first person to “discover” the American continent. That honor goes to indigenous Americans, many of whom believe they were created with the American landmass. Archaeological evidence indicates indigenous Americans migrated by land and sea from Asia in waves starting as many as 40,000 years ago. Viking explorers also visited the Americas centuries before Columbus.

Columbus’s arrival on Hispaniola in 1492 was, quite simply, the beginning of a genocide against Native American people whose legacy is visible today. Columbus himself enslaved, tortured, and murdered indigneous Taíno people in the Caribbean. This is why indigenous people and activists have advocated for the tearing down of Columbus statues across the United States. Slowly, and now more rapidly, we’re starting to see those statues topple.

Columbus’s crew, and subsequent crews of European sailors and explorers, also exposed Native people to diseases like smallpox, to which they held no immunity. According to the most recent estimates, of the 60 million people who inhabited the Americas in 1492, 56 million people — 90% of the continents’ pre-Columbian population — had succumbed to European violence or viruses by the 1600s. Euro-American genocide against Native people continued for hundreds of years as white settlers pushed West, including violent wars, brutal instances of forced resettlement — like that of Cherokee people along the Trail of Tears — and the U.S. government’s 20th-century forced sterilization of Native American women. White settlers often used sexual violence against Native American women as a brutal tool of repression. We see continued encroachment on indigneous American lives in the imposition of oil pipelines through Native land.

Because of the devastating legacy left by European diseases, the coronavirus pandemic holds a particularly traumatic resonance for many indigenous people. Native American reservations have coronavirus infection rates up to 10 times that of surrounding states. This is partly due to the ongoing health disparities colonization has created among Native people, who disproportionately lack access to running water and nourishing food, and thus suffer high rates of chronic illnesses like diabetes. The trauma of colonization, as well as colonization’s legacy of material poverty, have led to elevated rates of suicidality and gender-based violence, particularly against Native women.

Racist Police Violence Is a Brutal Legacy of Slavery

In light of the uprisings, this Independence Day is also an opportunity for white Americans especially to consider the historical limits of the freedom and equality enshrined in the Declaration of Independence. As debates continue over which historical statues — including those of the Founding Fathers — ought to be taken down, and which ought to remain standing, it’s vital to contend with the foundational role of slavery in American society.

In light of the pandemic and the killing of George Floyd, it’s also important to acknowledge that the legacy of slavery persists in racist police violence and healthcare discrimination against Black Americans.

At the time of the signing of the Declaration of Independence in 1776, slavery had already persisted in the colonies for at least 150 years. While 1619, the year a Portuguese ship brought around 20 enslaved African people to Jamestown, Virginia, is popularly cited as the origins of slavery in the United States, Europeans had benefited from the forced labor of enslaved African and indigenous people since the origins of colonization. As they signed a Declaration stating that “all men are created equal,” forty-one of the 56 men (and they were all white men) who founded the United States owned and directly profited from the labor of enslaved human beings. Slavery also involved systematic white sexual violence against enslaved Black women, leading to a persistent legacy of racialized, gender-based violence.

In contrast to the myth of Northern racial innocence, slavery undergirded the economies of both the Northern and Southern colonies. Northern merchants and, later, industrial cotton millers directly benefited from the labor of enslaved Africans in the plantation South. The racial wealth disparities resulting from 300-plus years of enslavement, 100 years of Jim Crow, and subsequent decades of disproportionate incarceration, economic exploitation, and housing and workplace discrimination structure the American economy to this day.

Racism’s impact on physical health

Both the coronavirus pandemic and the upsurge in public anger against racist police killings of Black Americans demonstrate that the legacy of this brutal institution is far from over. In the United States as a whole, Black Americans are 2.3 times more likely to die of the coronavirus than white or Asian Americans. This is particularly stark in Washington D.C., where Black Americans are dying of the virus at six times the rate of their white counterparts, and in Kansas and Wisconsin, where Black Americans are 5 times more likely to die of the virus. Meanwhile, in Minneapolis, where the uprisings began, police are seven times more likely to use force against Black Americans than against their white counterparts.

As Dr. Sabrina Strings, an associate professor in sociology at the University of California at Irvine, writes in a New York Times op-ed entitled “It’s not obesity. It’s slavery,” the reason for these disparities is starkly historical. “The era of slavery was when white Americans determined that black Americans needed only the bare necessities, not enough to keep them optimally safe and healthy,” she writes. “It set in motion black people’s diminished access to healthy foods, safe working conditions, medical treatment and a host of other social inequities that negatively impact health.”

Racism’s impact on mental health

These disparities also have a profoundly negative impact on Black Americans’ mental health, making Black Americans 20% more likely than white Americans to experience mental illness. The trauma of the pandemic and of police brutality, an omnipresent threat for Black Americans currently exacerbated by harsh crackdowns on protest, have had a stark impact on the mental health of Americans of color. “The mental health of my community, with all these different traumas, is falling apart,” Camesha L. Jones, LCSW, founder of the Black-women-led Sista Afya community mental wellness group, told Talkspace.

True Well-being Requires Freedom From Oppression

We must understand that U.S. residents’ current health, both physical and mental, is intimately linked to the inequalities present at the founding of our country. The Declaration of Independence is a hypocritical document. It talks of freedom, yet was written by slave owners. Yet it is undoubtedly true in its assertion that every single human being is inherently equal, and has an inalienable right to life and liberty — or, perhaps more accurately, liberation.

The social, political, and economic change necessary to ensure these values requires much more than removing statues, though that’s an important start. For many Black activists and thinkers, it requires a massive redistribution of resources, through, for example, reparations. For many leaders of the current movement against systemic anti-Black racism, change requires the abolition of the police and the prison system.

We can only assure that people’s inalienable right to live lives of wellness and dignity are protected when we understand, confront, and undo the historical roots of inequality. To face the United States’ violent history is not to declare the future hopeless; it’s instead to place hope in a future that departs dramatically from this violent past and present.

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“I felt a little guilty about not being on the front lines,” said Ammie K. Brooks, LSW, a therapist with the Black women-centered Sista Afya Community Mental Wellness. When we spoke, the uprising against racist police violence, sparked by the killing of George Floyd, had been raging for more than a week. Brooks had been taking appointments all day with some of the young Black women who make up the bulk of Sista Afya’s clientele. “At the same time, this is the front lines,” she said.

Brooks is right. Since the coronavirus pandemic swept the United States in early March, the country has been in a crisis of care. Women of color, who are disproportionately likely to be essential childcare workers, health workers, and service employees, have been at the front lines of the crisis, even while Black people experience the highest death tolls from the virus.

Following the police killing of George Floyd on May 25, a community already experiencing heightened grief and economic hardship now contends with renewed trauma from racist police brutality. “The mental health of my community, with all these different traumas, is falling apart,” said Camesha L. Jones, LCSW, founder of Sista Afya.

A New Chapter in an Old Story

This trauma is nothing new. Due to the effects of racist violence — including economic, interpersonal, and police violence — Black Americans are 20% more likely than their white counterparts to experience mental illness. Black resistance to racist violence isn’t new, either: from the first U.S. slave rebellions of the 1600s to the Civil Rights Movement, Black Americans have always risen up against oppression.

What is relatively new, however, is the scope and transformative potential of the current round of protests, the largest since those that followed the assasination of Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968 — as well as the protests’ timing in the midst of a dangerous pandemic.

The crisis has created an opportunity, not just for political change, but for deeper forms of community and care. Amid repeated racial trauma, and the brutal police violence protesters are facing on the streets, the therapists at Sista Afya are only a few of the Black wellness workers doing the vital, demanding, and often undercompensated labor of sustaining the well-being of people of color in struggle. “My contribution to what’s happening is supporting people [in] their mental health,” said Jones.

Racism Is Trauma

“For the last week almost every person I’ve seen in therapy has been talking about racial trauma,” said Jones. Sista Afya is a safe space to discuss just that. Jones founded the group in 2017, as a community gathering and empowerment space offering wellness workshops for and by young Black women. She added individual therapy in 2019.

Sista Afya is a relatively rare example of a Black-led mental health space in an overwhelmingly white field. As of 2013, 83.6 percent of psychologists were white, and many of them lacked the anti-racist framework necessary to help clients process racial trauma. As a result, many people of color continue to feel they can’t relate to their therapists at a deep level when it comes to issues of race, racism, and culture.

At Sista Afya, said Jones, “I want you to be your full self in therapy. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide any parts of yourself.” These days, bringing one’s full self to therapy often means discussing the strain of intensified racial and gendered violence. Grief from losing loved ones to the coronavirus, constant exposure to news coverage of racist police violence — itself a form of trauma — and protest-related burnout have all exacerbated the underlying stressors of daily life for Black Americans.

Meanwhile, as racism dominates discussions in social media and public life, many people of color continue to feel the unfair pressure to educate white peers about race and racism. Because they often do triple duty as paid workers, political organizers, and community caretakers, Black women like Sista Afya’s community may be at a particularly high risk of burnout. “There definitely is a higher burden of stress on women,” said Brooks.

Decolonizing Therapy

While therapy can be deeply healing, conventional therapeutic models are often individualistic and lack focus on the systemic, historical and contemporary violence affecting marginalized groups. In contrast, a movement of therapists of color is agitating to make therapeutic experiences more relevant and healing for people who experience racial trauma.

There are several different frameworks oriented toward providing relevant therapy for people of color. “Culturally responsive” therapy seeks to make practitioners aware of how differing cultural frameworks affect mental wellness. Other practitioners, like Dr. Jennifer Mullan, advocate for a “decolonization” lens. This approach argues that, because Euro-American colonialism fundamentally and violently interrupted non-European peoples’ relationships with their own cultures, histories, and homelands, true wellness requires a deep framework shift away from Western notions of self, community, and wellbeing.

Sista Afya favors a combined approach. “We do use some things that are more Western-dominated, but we also intermingle our culture as well,” said Jones. This takes the form of support groups that use Black literature and cultural icons to help women connect over mental health. For Jones, this emphasis on community directly challenges the isolation that can accompany experiences of trauma and depression.

Educate, Agitate, Therapize

Intense police violence against protestors — including the use of chemical weapons, hit-and-run car attacks, and pellets that have partially blinded even members of the press — has exacerbated the deep trauma that many Black Americans already experienced. At the same time, community groups, individuals, and mutual aid networks have demonstrated deep solidarity, offering free food and water in the streets, opening their homes to protestors, and even flooding police apps meant to punish protestors with K-Pop imagery.

As these acts of support demonstrate, the front lines of struggle are on the streets, but they’re also in the homes, churches, and therapy spaces where wellness workers like Jones and Brooks care for organizers. “Activism can literally consume you: emotionally, mentally, physically,” said Jones. Protest can mean long, gruelling, and physically demanding hours in the hot sun with little rest and food, an omnipresent risk of physical injury, and the trauma of witnessing others being seriously harmed. Jones, who helped facilitate a support group for Black liberation activists in Chicago, said organizersin her community are already feeling the strain.

Change is a marathon, not a sprint, so Jones recommends that activists continue to care for themselves and each other even while taking to the streets. “One of the biggest things is taking a break. You don’t have to be on all the time,” said Jones. While it can feel difficult to take time away from the struggle to nourish oneself, it’s the only way to keep a movement sustainable. “You gotta step away from it. If you don’t step away from it the intensity and all of the emotions you’re experiencing are only going to intensify,” said Jones.

Jones and Brooks advise activists to tune into their own energy levels and to set aside time to do things that refresh them and give them joy: visiting family and friends, nourishing themselves, and resting. Jones reminds Black activists to take the weight off themselves. After all, they are not the ones responsible for anti-Black racism. “We didn’t create this problem. European, white people created it,” said Jones. “I gotta do this for my survival but this isn’t necessarily my burden to carry. They started it, they need to fix it.”

Self-Care For Liberation

Jones is an advocate of mindfulness, but these days, gospel music has been lifting her spirits more than meditation. “That speaks to our resilience over the past 400 years. That in spite of the current racial terrorism we still have families, we still show up in other ways that I don’t think a lot of other groups in this country know how to show up,” she said.

Caretakers, too, must care for themselves, and Jones has done so by limiting her social media consumption and continuing to invest time in the routines of daily life: working out, food shopping, cooking. Brooks, too, limits the time she spends talking about the protests to her working hours, in order to stay resilient.

Sustainability is important because, even when the hashtags stop trending and the tear gas clouds have cleared, the movement for Black liberation will continue, as it has for centuries. “This is not a one-time thing,” said Jones. “We need everybody to be in this movement with us long term, until some drastic change happens in our country.”

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This self-introspection is a fundamental starting point in the fight to build a more just society. It’s also an intense and deeply humbling process, at a time when a global pandemic has everyone stretched thin. It’s totally understandable to feel many conflicting emotions right now, including sadness, concern, confusion, guilt, or even a desire for things to return “back to normal.” At the same time, it’s important to remember that — as the brutal toll of the coronavirus pandemic on communities of color, and the police killing of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless others have especially highlighted — “normal” has never been safe for Black Americans.

The current moment, then, presents white Americans with the opportunity, and the obligation, to help create a new “normal” in which we no longer participate in, and benefit from, the oppression of Black people. It requires us to engage in a process of self-examination, education, and unlearning. Here are some ideas for white people engaging in this process.

Process Your Feelings Responsibly

It is totally reasonable to feel many, intense emotions right now. Rather than shrinking away from these feelings, you can begin by sitting with and examining them. What’s coming up for you in the current moment? What was your previous understanding of race and racism, and in what ways have these preconceptions been challenged? Consider taking an implicit bias test to get a better insight into your own internalization of white supremacy and anti-Black racism.

You may be surprised or disturbed by your results. You may also feel disturbed by and ashamed of any racist beliefs or attitudes you find surfacing in this process of introspection. Rather than deny that these feelings exist, you can choose instead to sit with them, to examine them, and to educate yourself so you can learn anti-racist ways of thinking and being. It might help to journal about these feelings. It may also help to talk about these feelings with other white friends engaging in a similar process, or with a mental health professional who demonstrates a commitment to anti-racism in their practice.

It’s important to process whatever you are feeling responsibly, in a way that does not burden people of color or add to the harm and trauma they are experiencing. Take care not to use people of color as emotional sounding boards for your attitudes about race and racism. Unless you already have a close and trusting relationship with a specific loved one of color, and they have clearly indicated they are available for this kind of conversation with you, they’re not necessarily the person to have this conversation with right now.

Learn About Racism and White Supremacy

Educating ourselves about race, anti-Black racism, and white supremacy is also key to this process of unlearning. It’s important here to remember that educating ourselves about white supremacy — and particularly its role in the history of American capitalism — isn’t a favor we do for anyone. It is, instead, the bare minimum white Americans owe to people whose historical and contemporary exploitation has materially benefitted us.

Unlearning white supremacy is also something we do for ourselves, though not in the sense of aggrandizing ourselves or gaining “points” for being “woke” or “allies.” We do it, instead, with the understanding that the privileges conferred on white people by a racist system are ill-begotten, and that benefiting from others’ oppression is neither a morally acceptable nor spiritually healthy way to live.

There are numerous resources, reading lists, syllabi, discussion guides, and articles on anti-racism that you can begin to work through. Educator and advocate Rachel Ricketts’ anti-racism resources, which include a specific section for white people, are a good place to start. You can also begin with this collection of Writing Prompts About White Privilege, which are specifically designed to help you understand where you’re at, as well as this Antiracist Checklist for Whites.

American racism is systemic and historical, with roots in the colonization of indigenous land and the enslavement of African people. Its branches span the U.S. political system, economy, and military. But we’re often not taught much about the histories of people of color, or the histories of racist U.S. policy, in school. So these lists of longer reads are also a great way to continue digging into these histories in a comprehensive way.

Support Loved Ones of Color in a Thoughtful Way

With so much violence against Black Americans constantly on the news, it’s a natural and lovely impulse to want to support the people of color in your life. Remember, however, that it’s not just our intentions to provide support that matter; it’s also how we enact support. If you’ve ever been the recipient of a half-baked apology or a self-serving gesture, you know that insincere acts of kindness can be worse than not reaching out at all.

That means, before impulsively reaching out, taking stock of the relationships you have with the people of color in your life. By and large, white Americans occupy vastly segregated neighborhoods, workplaces, and friend groups, with the average white American having only one Black friend out of every hundred. Partly because of this, after widely reported incidents of racist violence, it’s not uncommon for people of color to receive unsolicited messages offering awkard condolences, uncomfortable confessions of past racism, racist apologia, or requests for anti-racist education from white people in their social networks. Often, these messages aren’t from close friends or loved ones with whom they have a history of intimate conversation about race, but from white acquaintances or strangers looking to offload feelings of guilt.

Before reaching out to people of color in your life to demonstrate concern or solidarity, ask yourself: is this person a genuine friend, or just an acquaintance? Am I reaching out with a real desire to be supportive toward them, or to clear my own conscience, assuage my own guilt, or gain reassurance that I’m “not racist?” Am I reaching out because they’re the only person of color I know, or because we are valued and active parts of each other’s lives? Have they clearly indicated that they are open to talking about race with me? If I reach out and I don’t like that person’s response, will I feel the need to defend myself?

If your answers to any of these questions give you pause, it’s probably better to work on yourself for now.

Take Collective Action

In order to create social change, it’s necessary for us to introspect. But that’s just a starting point. Change, ultimately, happens through collective action.

That action can take many forms. Protests are one of the most obvious and important means of enacting change. If you can hit the streets, social media is the best way to locate protests in your area. Be sure to research the protest organizers to make sure they are led by groups of color, and go with a buddy. Know your rights, wear a mask, and think through how you will keep yourself and your crew safe. People of color are at the greatest risk of police brutality, but as news reports indicate, protestors and journalists of all races have sustained serious injuries in the past week of intensified action.

Protesting in the streets right now isn’t everyone’s jam for many reasons, including mobility limitations, susceptibility to COVID-19, or simply a lack of comfort in or ability to be in large crowds. That’s totally okay. There are many ways to take collective action that don’t involve taking to the streets, including amplifying the movement on social media, providing food and PPE for protestors and medics, signing petitions, and more. You can find many suggestions for ways to get involved in collective action here, here, and here.

Another great way to take action is, of course, to move money toward people and organizations doing good work. You can donate to some of the many grassroots funds that have been doing this work for a long time, and follow them on social media. You can also consider donating to some of the many organizations that are providing free or reduced-cost mental health care for people of color, like the Borris Lawrence Henson Foundation, the Sista Afya General Fund, the Loveland Therapy Fund for Black women and girls, and the Black Journalists Therapy Relief Fund.

Take Care of Yourself

Finally, as always, remember to take care of yourself. The coronavirus pandemic has been difficult for all of us, and times of massive social upheaval are stressful even if they lead to positive change. Realizing that a movement isn’t primarily about you doesn’t mean that you stop grounding, caring for, and loving yourself.

In fact, caring for ourselves — keeping ourselves healthy, resting, processing our trauma, connecting with our loved ones, and working through our issues — is foundational to social transformation. When people with more privilege don’t keep our own emotional houses tidy, we outsource that grief, pain, and guilt onto those already more burdened than us. That’s unfair.

On the other hand, when we plug into our own power source and commit to doing hard, but ultimately valuable, work, we reduce that care burden. Ultimately, we help enable the conditions for a truly just and equal society.

The post Black Lives Matter: How White People Can Get Educated and Stay Grounded appeared first on Talkspace.

Updated on 2/22/2022

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If you, like billions around the world, are currently socially distancing at home, it’s normal to feel antsy, anxious, or powerless. It’s natural impulse to want to be physically present with our loved ones in crisis, so the lack of the gatherings — events like protests, religious services, or community meetings — which normally strengthen us, can be particularly taxing right now.

But even at a distance, you remain a crucial part of your community. Helping your neighbors can be a profound way to help yourself: social connection is fundamental to our physical and emotional health, and community involvement can literally add years to your life. If you’re feeling motivated to support your community, but are unsure how to help, try one of these suggestions to meet neighbors’ vital needs while building solidarity from six feet away.

1. Join or Create a Mutual Aid Network

Mutual aid networks are grassroots community organizations, usually based by locality, which take a communal, resource-sharing approach to social solidarity.

Mutual aid networks are usually not NGOs, and they are not charitable organizations. Charity implies a structure of those who give to those who do not; mutual aid, on the other hand, assumes that everyone both needs something and has something to give, whether that’s time, emotional support, material resources, or simply their presence. Currently, many mutual aid networks are focused on pooling money for folks who have lost jobs, redistributing groceries to neighbors in need, checking in on vulnerable neighbors, or providing collective services like childcare or grocery delivery.

You can look through these national and international directories to find a mutual aid network near you. You can also search for New York City-specific networks or find resources for folks specifically in the Rust Belt. Or, you can start a mutual aid network of your own, by reaching out to neighbors via email, a phone tree, or a Whatsapp group, and determining the collective needs and resources. Check out this toolkit to get started!

2. Call an Elder

Our elders are some of the most valuable sources of love, wisdom, and strength in our lives and communities, and yet they are most at risk right now. Even those elders who are well-resourced enough to self-isolate, and lucky enough to remain healthy, may experience increased loneliness due to social distancing.

If you’re social distancing at home, now is a great time to reconnect with the elders in your life. Call your grandparents, aunts and uncles, or mentors, ask what they need, and simply spend (remote) time together. If you have elderly neighbors in your building or on your block with whom you haven’t connected before, slip a note under their door introducing yourself, leaving your number, and offering to help make grocery runs or simply chat. If you are making deliveries for folks, remember to practice sanitary protocols to prevent vulnerable elders from coming into contact with the virus.

You can also volunteer with a local elderly care organization to check on neighbors with regular phone calls or grocery deliveries. Check to find elderly services organizations in your area.

3. Donate Public Transit to an Essential Worker

In cities across the United States, social distancing measures are leading to unprecedented decreases in public transit ridership. At the same time, many essential workers still need to use public transit to get to their jobs, upping their risk of illness. And with public transit ticket rates at historically high prices in cities like New York, accessing public transit in even the best of times can be a serious strain on folks’ finances.

If you purchased a monthly or multi-month public transit pass and now find yourself working from home, consider donating it to an essential worker. If you’re in New York City, you can connect to neighbors through Corona Metro. If you live elsewhere, you can reach out to friends or neighbors directly, or offer your public transit access through your local mutual aid network.

4. Become a Citizen Historian

Oral history is the first draft of public memory. It’s a way to validate and uplift the experiences of the everyday folks whose lives often go unrecorded. Historians are already documenting the coronavirus pandemic for posterity. You can help your community do the vital work of remembrance by contributing your story to a university, media organization, or nonprofit, or by becoming a citizen oral historian yourself.

People across the country can become a volunteer oral historian, or submit your own story, with Indiana University’s COVID-19 oral history project. At the pandemic’s American epicenter, Brooklyn residents can share their stories with The Brooklyn Public Library, while New Yorkers from all boroughs can participate in Columbia University’s COVID-19 oral history project. Meanwhile, you can also contribute to regional oral history efforts if you’re a resident of Arkansas, Indiana, Chicago, Missouri, Central-Southern Appalachia, or Western Pennsylvania.

5. Make Fabric Masks

With the CDC now recommending, and some states requiring, residents to wear face coverings in public, fabric masks are even more important. Whether you’re an expert tailor, or just learning how to sew, you can help keep your neighbors safe.

Get Us PPE includes extensive resources for home mask makers. They have mask patterns and tips on best sanitary practices, as well as links for sewists to connect with other makers in their areas. Find the Masks also helps connect makers to healthcare and other essential workers in need of masks.

First, sew masks for yourself and members of your household, so you can safely deliver to others. Then, reach out to neighbors, friends, and relatives to offer your mask-making services, and donate to local hospitals and community organizations. If you’re donating to folks outside of your household, no-contact dropoffs, or mailing the masks, is the safest bet.

Remember: You Are More Than What You Do

With many of us worrying about how to afford food, care for our families, keep a roof over our heads, and heal from sickness, the prospect of doing even more can feel overwhelming. That, the pressure to be productive while in self-quarantine — after all, magazines tell us, we now have so much extra time on our hands — can lead to self-judgement and shame.

The truth is, most working people don’t have more free time on their hands — and if we do, we may have more severe concerns, like childcare, than learning how to make the perfect sourdough. As Jessica Bloom writes, we don’t have to be more productive during quarantine. If you’re overwhelmed or your health is vulnerable, you shouldn’t feel any obligation to do more than simply take care of yourself and your loved ones. Remember that self-care is community care, for the simple fact that you are a valuable member of your community and your well-being matters to all.

If, however, you’re looking to feel more connected, to meet your own needs while helping others, or to regain feelings of purpose, taking action to help your community is a beautiful step. Viruses are inherently collective, passing from body to body, and yet staggering social inequalities in the U.S. mean that some folks are feeling the strain more than others right now. Reaching out, even from our couches, helps correct these inequalities, ensuring that every single one of us has access to resources, solidarity, and support.

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