Not Quite Ready to Rise From the Ashes

Moving forward after the Palisades fire

On the night of Tuesday, January 7th, the Palisades fire tore through the place I once called home. The neighborhood I grew up in went up in flames and moved quickly, pushed by some of the most powerful wind gusts I’ve experienced in my lifetime. My mom’s house was in the path of the fire. Earlier in the day, talking to my mom on the phone, my brother and I advised her it was time to evacuate, just to be cautious. “Just take some clothes and a few things you really need,” we told her. We reassured her there was little chance the fire would spread to her location, or so we thought.

Later in the day, as the fire grew, our assumptions were wrong; the fire spread quickly. First, it hit the high school, and then I jumped the highway and moved right toward my mom’s house. We all watched the news from our various safe locations, hoping for any word. We were not hopeful as the night went on, seeing the devastation. By daybreak, the fire was still raging throughout the area, but the center of town, called The Village, had burned. My mom was doing everything she could to find out the fate of her house, and it wasn’t until later that afternoon that we discovered what had happened. A neighbor who returned to the neighborhood after evacuating sent my mom a text with a picture of her house on fire. It survived the worst of the fire, through the night, but could not avoid the embers that continued to circulate. Via text messages, we watched her house burn.

Two days later, my family and I had to evacuate our house as the Kenneth fire erupted 1/4 mile from our house. Thankfully, we were able to return home within hours. Still, the trauma of seeing billowing smoke from your backyard, packing up what you think is important, and getting you and your kids to safety is something I would never wish on anyone.

Like so many of my childhood friends, the home I grew up in is gone. The town where we grew up and spent our childhood is also gone. It’s hard to describe what it feels like to lose something so foundational—a space that holds countless memories. It was more than just a house; it was a part of my identity. I didn’t just lose a home; I feel like I lost the whole town. Many of my childhood friends are in the same situation. There is a communal grieving that I cannot yet wrap my head around.

When I think about what’s left behind, it’s not just the ashes where my mom’s house used to be; it is sadness, grief, and fear. Along with the lost house, there is a sense of permanence and stability that I so often take for granted. I am not yet in a place to share hopeful wisdom about “rebuilding from the ashes.” Not yet. But, I can hold space for how this loss has also brought me back to themes I’ve been writing about for months now—themes of resilience, grief, and community.

Grieving the Loss of What Was

CLICHÉ ALERT - Grief is a tricky thing. It doesn’t follow a linear path, and it often shows up in ways you don’t expect. I’ve said it many times, and now folks are saying it to me. This loss feels like I've lost part of myself. But the grief isn’t just about losing a house; it’s also about saying goodbye to a part of my childhood. In many ways, this mirrors the experience of grieving the unrealistic expectation of what our bodies should be.

We grieve because we care, because we’ve lost something that matters deeply. Grief also invites us to sit with the discomfort, feel the loss, and eventually find a way forward. But that discomfort and pain are real and not always accessible. I recently experienced this firsthand.

A week after the fire, I was in my therapy session. I started by recapping how things had been going since the fire and where things stood logistically.

She asked, “So what do you need right now?”

“I really have no fucking clue,” I answered.

“Would you like to try some grounding and see what comes up?” she asked. (BTW, my internal answer to that is always no)

“I don’t know. But I’ll try.” I replied.

She assured me I didn’t have to if my body told me not to. She reminded me of my safety in the space and that I could stop anytime. I appreciated the reminders and agreed to do some grounding work. As soon as I closed my eyes, put my hands over my heart, and took a deep breath, tears started to roll down my face.

I was struck by how numb I am, what lurks under this numbness, and how little effort it takes to connect to those feelings if I permit myself to do so. I don’t know how much space there is to feel what is happening right now, but I know I can when I feel ready. Little steps forward!

Resilience in the Face of Destruction

CLICHÉ ALERT - Resilience doesn’t mean bouncing back to what was. It’s about moving forward with intention, even when the path is unclear. After the fire, I’ve seen many people come together to support each other, offering meals, shelter, and a sense of community. It’s a reminder that resilience isn’t an individual act; it’s something we build together.

This same principle applies to recovery and self-acceptance. Whether it’s rebuilding after a fire or recovering from years of struggling with body image, body shame, or fear around food, resilience is about small, intentional steps. It’s about choosing, day by day, to do something different and finding strength in that tiny step forward.

Yes, we are incredibly resilient, and it warms my heart to hear how friends want to support me or my mom. And despite that knowing, I feel broken. I see the pieces need to be picked up and repaired. I have the blueprint to put the pieces back together, but I don’t feel ready. Right now, I feel like I need to put the pieces in a box for safekeeping, and I’ll open it when I’m ready. I don’t know how resilient I feel. Maybe the resilience is just moving on with life as much as possible. The logistics feel comforting. Having a task, seeing clients, and working feels good. It’s what brings me some distance from what’s happening. And with time, that resilience will also help me tackle the more complicated things.

The Importance of Community

CLICHÉ ALERT - Community is healing. Reaching out and accepting help can be hard, especially when we’re used to being self-reliant. But this support doesn’t just ease the burden; it also reminds us that we’re connected to something greater than ourselves. Community is a powerful reminder that even in our most vulnerable moments, we are never truly alone.

As my family navigates this period of loss, I’ve been deeply moved by the outpouring of support from friends, family, and even strangers. Community has been our anchor, providing not only tangible help but also emotional support. From the neighbors who shared updates and checked in on my mom to the friends who have called me to check in on my mom, the generosity of others has been a light in this dark time. I also see that support with the inundation of donations to help the thousands of people impacted by all the fires in LA.

This experience has reminded me that we are not meant to go through life’s hardships alone. Whether it’s the aftermath of a fire or the struggles of recovery, community plays a crucial role in helping us heal and rebuild. The strength we find in others gives us the courage to take the next step, even when it feels impossible.

None of this makes it easier, though. It still feels so hard to say “Yes” to support. I know all the things about how the community is healing. And right now, the last thing I want to do is answer the phone or reply to a text. I pick up the phone or reply because, in the end, it helps, but the pull to isolate is so strong.

Similar to how I’ve written about in terms of masculinity and body image, the same things show up here. Masculinity has taught me to be strong in a crisis, caring for my family and friends. Being there for everyone. Even emotionally. When you are naturally empathetic, it’s easy to extend that to anyone who needs it. Family, friends, and clients. It’s what makes me good at what I do. But it’s still so hard to receive or seek out empathy. Community is healing, and finding other empathetic folks feels so good, but that doesn’t make it easier to say yes to the support.

Finding Meaning in Loss

As I’ve reflected on the loss of my mom’s house and the Palisades, I’ve realized that the lessons I have to learn from this experience extend far beyond this singular event. They’re the same lessons I’ve been exploring here on Substack—the importance of grief, resilience, the value of community, and, of course, self-compassion

Today, I am reminding myself, “I’m doing the best I can right now.” It’s not perfect and probably far from ideal, but this is what I’ve got for now. The one thing I will try to do is not beat myself up for struggling.

Life is full of moments that challenge us to grow, whether we lose a home, confront our inner critic, or learn to live in a body that doesn’t match society’s expectations. In every case, the process is messy, uncomfortable, and often painful. But it’s also where we find our strength.

To those of you reading this, I hope my story reminds you that it’s okay to grieve, to feel lost, and not to have all the answers. Whether rebuilding after a fire or reimagining your relationship with yourself, know that you’re not alone. And know that, with time, we will find a way forward.

Thank you for listening. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others.

How to Help

Here’s a list of organizations and resources people can donate to to support those affected by fires in Los Angeles:

Local Community and Relief Organizations

California Community Foundation Wildfire Relief Fund
Supports intermediate and long-term recovery efforts for wildfire victims, including rebuilding homes, providing financial assistance, and mental health services.
Website

Los Angeles Fire Department Foundation
Provides equipment, resources, and training to LA firefighters to better respond to emergencies like wildfires.
Website

United Way of Greater Los Angeles
Offers assistance to those affected by natural disasters, focusing on housing stability and financial support for vulnerable populations.
Website

Direct Assistance and Rebuilding Efforts

Habitat for Humanity of Greater Los Angeles
Helps rebuild homes for families impacted by wildfires, focusing on those with low incomes.
Website

Give Directly
Reach out to those impacted and directly assist families affected by the fires. Gift cards, GoFund Me etc.

Food and Shelter

World Central Kitchen (WCK)
Offers hot meals to those displaced by natural disasters, including wildfires, as well as first responders.
Website

Los Angeles Regional Food Bank
Distributes food to individuals and families affected by disasters, ensuring they have access to essentials.
Website

Animal Welfare

Pasadena Humane
Provides emergency services, shelter, and care for animals affected by fires in the Southern California region.
Website

RedRover
Supports animals and their families during natural disasters by offering grants for emergency veterinary care and temporary boarding.
Website

Los Angeles County Animal Care Foundation
Supports displaced animals by providing shelter and supplies during emergencies like wildfires.
Website

Mental Health Support

National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) Los Angeles County
Offers mental health resources and support groups for individuals affected by disasters.
Website

Give an Hour
Provides free mental health support for individuals and families impacted by disasters.
Website

These organizations offer a range of support, from immediate relief to long-term recovery efforts. Donors can choose based on the type of aid they want to provide, such as housing, food, mental health, or animal welfare.