Climate Change Changes Psychotherapy

In Response to “The Unseen Toll of a Warming World” New York Times: March 9, 2022

By Deborah Cooper, MFT, San Francisco CA

Photo Credit: Aaron Maizlish/Flickr/CC BY 2.0

The recent New York Times article on the impact of climate change on mental health spells out what many of us psychotherapists are seeing. And what we are experiencing. There have been a plethora of articles in the last two years on the impact of COVID on mental health. We will be seeing more on climate change. COVID is a global issue impacting essentially the entirety of the human population. Climate change affects all beings. It is imperative that our profession address and treat the impact of both global challenges. The NYT’s article beautifully articulates what we will see more of, the emotional toll of current and impending environmental disaster. What I hope to see more is how these challenges are changing the practice of psychotherapy itself. 

On September 9, 2020 I walked out of my home into my garden in the 10 minutes between zooming with clients. I had on a N95 mask. It was not COVID that I was protecting myself from. The air itself was dangerous, full of toxic particulates.  An acrid smell permeated the city and the sky was an apocalyptic shade of brownish orange. There was no sun to be seen or felt. California was on fire. 

“ I told myself that all the training I had done had led to this moment, to this time in history. I grounded myself and I opened Zoom. I kept calm and carried on. ”

I stood there in my garden amidst the autumn tomatoes and sunflowers and cried. My sorrow was mighty, not only for the embodied experience of being in a climate disaster, but for the profound knowledge of what this meant as a psychotherapist. Whether or not the pandemic came to an eventual end, my work was irrevocably changed. I knew there would be no going back in my lifetime. 

I came of age as a therapist in the 1980’s, married to an environmental activist. Over the next decades the emotions that the NYT’s article addressed have come into my room primarily from activist clients.  It did not permeate my practice. The bulk of my  work focused on healing the wounds from the past, grief, life transitions, trauma, and rewriting narratives that hold one back from pursuing healthy relationships and dreams. Being a therapist meant that occasionally something I was experiencing (or avoiding) came  in and sat on my couch. Very occasionally, I’d find myself processing a traumatic event along with the rest of my practice and colleagues. This processing was usually short lived, with the event slowly fading in the rear view mirror.  And  not every single person in my practice would bring up nor be impacted by the event. 9/11 is an example. 

Under that dystopian sky of September 2020  I dried my tears and went back inside. I shook my head with grim humor that the breathing exercise I do before clients was not advisable in this situation.  I told myself that all the training I had done had led to this moment, to this time in history. I grounded myself and I opened Zoom. I kept calm and carried on. 

Most trauma treatment modalities are based on the premise that trauma remains stuck in the body and psyche, that essentially those traumatized have not fully moved into the present where there is safety.  The body does keep score, but what does it mean when that score card is still adding up and both therapist and client are experiencing it similarly? This happened when we went into shut down in 2020. It is happening for those of us in places like California where we are experiencing climate disaster yearly. There is no place on the planet that won’t eventually be impacted, where client and therapist won’t be in it together. 

As I looked up at that orange sky, I knew that the pandemic was preparation for what was coming next. And what was here. “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom”. Viktor Frankl’s words and work now seem made for this time. It’s not just environmental activists responding emotionally to climate change. It’s my whole practice. I encourage clients to find that space before response, to know in the worst circumstances we still have power and choice. I work to find that space as well. I spend more time addressing how to hack the vagus nerve, how to stay calm amidst chaos. Resilience has become more important than self-actualization. Resilience also means finding the strength in vulnerability. Most therapists I know have become more vulnerable and self -disclosing in their practice. With Zoom, we became privy to our client’s homes, cars, pets, and children. Some clients became privy to their therapist’s as well. The boundaries of the therapy room changed.  My clients and I all sheltered in place, connected by our zoom screens. Then just 6 months later, we were under the same toxic sky as one. Climate change was not theoretical, it was being experienced. Together. 

More than ever, both the concept and reality that we are in it together has become a healing factor in psychotherapy. I find myself focusing on the power of bearing witness, even as I too am experiencing my own grief and trauma. Self-care is now more of a survival regimen. 

I applaud the New York Times for addressing the impact of climate change on our psyche. I look forward to articles that address how climate change is changing therapy itself. Being a therapist during a pandemic changed my work. So has practicing in a place where we don’t say autumn or fall anymore. We call and experience it as fire season. My clients and I  are in it together. This will not change, which changes everything. Psychotherapy will never be the same.