What Trauma Has Taught Me
The morning of the Maui wildfires started out completely normal. Average. A Tuesday like any other. I dropped Oona off at school, I worked out, and I stood and drank my coffee for a good five minutes while surveying the stack of papers, mail, and sticky notes piled inches high on my desk. Knowing my brain doesn’t create well in a cluttered space, I mentally adjusted my game plan and opted out of shooting a yoga video for the Wanderful Bodies streaming studio. Shifting into organizational mode, I began to make some headway in the tasks I’d been avoiding.
A few hours later I did some laundry, ate a snack, and drove to pick up Oona again. I had a lovely conversation with her dance teacher about her amazing and seemingly endless levels of energy. Oona, while jumping up and down by my side, told me proudly that she had done 100 burpees. We got in the car and argued briefly about our music selection options. Oona was partial to Twisted Sister, while I was more in the mood for Joni Mitchell. We compromised on Taylor Swift, stopped at Target, chatted with a friend in line at the register, and drove home.
…I feel like every disaster in human history must have started something like this. Just normal people living their normal lives; moving through their errands and obligations, blissfully unaware of how much things were about to change…
There had been talk spreading most of the day about a fire upcountry. Then there was one on the west side, and then another in the grasslands east of us. It was windy and I felt worried for the people in the affected areas. I wished them well and said a prayer and I went on with my day. But the winds were getting stronger and I inhaled the smell of smoke as we pulled into our driveway that afternoon. My mild unease turned to concern. A strange tension had begun to creep in and I began checking my phone for local news repeatedly. The reports were equal parts questionably reliable information and frustrating silence… no real official news, just local people reporting what they were seeing. It was not always clear if the reports were true.
Facebook posts were becoming more and more frantic. The wind was causing the fires to spread rapidly. And as I reheated dinner it became painfully clear that things were going off the rails. Fire had taken homes in Kula and we were receiving spotty reports from the west side of the island that structures had been lost there as well. Suddenly whole neighborhoods were being evacuated, including the two to the north and to the west of ours. Not wanting to scare our daughter, John and I whispered about the situation in the kitchen. So far our neighborhood was safe. John didn’t seem too worried, and given that I am more prone than him to catastrophizing, I took my queue from him and tried to calm down.
But I was on edge. I felt in my gut that something wasn’t right and I pulled out our passports and Oona’s birth certificate, just in case. There was little else I would concern myself with if we had to leave quickly. The news we were starting to hear could not be true. It just couldn’t be true. Lahaina was burning. The fire was out of control.
We went to bed but didn’t really sleep. I took multiple trips outside in the middle of the night to smell the air and listen for sounds that might indicate that it was time to go. I looked for the glow of flames, then silently crept back inside to attempt to rest. It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a moment when I was jolted into fuzzy awareness by the sounds of muffled booms reminiscent of distant thunder. It took me until mid-day to realize that those sounds were the cars, propane tanks, and gas stations exploding on the west side. Old Lahaina was gone. The town had been lost to the flames. The boats had burned in the harbor. The 150-year-old Banyan tree was engulfed and feared lost. And the people… We didn’t yet know about the people.
The series of events that caused the catastrophic disaster are still being unraveled. The unbelievable sorrow of the people of Maui is palpable. The unfathomable amount of lives lost and the history of generations. Heartbreaking doesn’t even begin to describe what those at the center of this disaster must be feeling.
My heart, like all those with a connection to the island aches. My family and the home we rent in Kihei are safe, intact, and physically unharmed. But thousands of people who lived here were not given this luxury. What they have lost makes me sick to my stomach. I feel both deeply grateful and heart-wrenchingly guilty.
There but for the grace of god.
When it was realized that there were thousands stuck on the west side without means of communication, utilities, or basic supplies, the Maui’s people sprang into action, organizing boats to carry essentials out to them. I have never seen such an immediate response by such a large and undirected group of people. In the first few days, Maui’s emergency crews were overwhelmed and the civilian people just stepped in. It was impressive and deeply touching. Water, medicine, food, fuel, bedding, clothing, and funds. People just showed up and gave what was needed. When they didn’t have what was needed they sent out the word and others delivered. So many people came together to just do what was right. I am honored to be a witness to this incredible community support. I am humbled by the way everyone cared for each other under impossible circumstances.
The fires are now contained. The immediate threat is gone. But as the panic subsides, the long-term work must begin. The last two weeks, for me, have been ones of deep sorrow and reflection. Though I do call this incredible island home, these events did not touch me firsthand. And the personal healing that I am doing is going to look very different from the healing of those who lost so much.
I want to be very clear here. I and my loved ones are safe and sound. Writing about my emotional response to the fires is in no way meant to upstage, dramatize, or diminish the experience of those who were present at ground zero or touched directly by loss. I am also aware, that as of this moment in time, there are several life-changing fire events and natural disasters happening on our planet and there are many human beings worldwide experiencing a collective trauma of which I am merely a witness.
I am choosing to share simply as an offering. I am sharing the account of one human being, who is looking at the painful events of her life and doing her best to see each moment as an opportunity to grow and heal. This is how I find peace, by integrating the understanding that each painful experience is also a gift, meant not to break me, but to expand my understanding so that I can better embrace love, embody compassion, and rise toward the light. And hopefully, leave that light on for others who may be looking for a way out of the darkness.
These concepts are not new. I did not make them up but I have personally encountered them many times before. But healing is never linear. New painful experiences will remind us of past traumas, over and over until our healing is integrated and complete. The fires on Maui reminded me of this.
Many years ago I heard a writer say that she wrote the book she needed to read. Here are the things I tell myself when times feel unbearable. Here is what I will tell myself over and over as I participate in my own healing and the collective healing on Maui:
We all process trauma and grief differently. My response to a traumatic event is probably going to look very different than someone else's. We humans see through the lens of our own experiences and coping mechanisms and when it comes to grief, all feelings are appropriate. Rage, tears, denial, overwhelm, overresponse, underresponse, checking out of processing our feelings, overdoing, and even complete and utter shutdown. All are very human ways of trying to make sense of that which is completely incomprehensible. Leaving space and practicing compassion for others to process in their own way is respectful and deeply kind. In moments of extreme stress, remember that others are feeling it too. Grant them and yourself patience and grace.
Life is short and indeterminate. This is true for all of us. Tell your people that you love them repeatedly. Over and over spread as much love as you can. In the end, that is all that really matters. Make each day count as one that you chose to live in love.
Get present. It is so tempting to bury our feelings of grief under distractions and addictions. But they never really go away. The more we give ourselves a safe space to process, the more true healing can occur. Therapy is great. Grief counseling is great. Time devoted simply to watching the sunset, walking in the rain, smelling the flowers, cuddling with your kids, laughing with your friends, dancing your ass off, and experiencing all the juicy and joyful parts of life will ground you. They will also remind you that all is not lost.
Get moving. Drop the excuses and start actively moving on that list of dreams. Learn that language, write that novel, take that dance class, save for that trip. The more we put off what brings us joy, the more we let our own light dim. And the world needs your light. It needs it very very badly. Allow yourself to shine.
Life is short and indeterminate.
As Maui’s people start to heal from the collective tragedy, I am choosing to look at the wildfires as a wake-up call. A very much unsubtle reminder that there are things I came into this life to do and there is no time like the present to get started.
*** Maui is a very special place. Many consider it a magical vortex and place of deep spiritual connection. The rebuilding of Lahaina and the other areas taken by the fires of 2023 will be a long process. The trauma healing, for many, will be even longer. If you feel called to help in any way, I am providing the following list of organizations that have been recommended to me by those who have been members of this community for decades. I feel confident that these funds will be used to assist the people of Maui for the long term and in ways that honor their community and heritage. Mahalo.
