When I became a mother for the first time, amid my joy and delight, I was overwhelmed with grief for the world. The news was unbearable, there was simply too much suffering, too much violence and destruction. A friend put it like this: when you become a mother, your heart is outside yourself. You want to make the world perfect for this perfect human being, but you can’t. No one can. So we develop coping mechanisms by living within what psychologist Renée Lertzman calls a “window of tolerance”.
People are deeply concerned and afraid of the future, and of the terrors that climate breakdown will bring. But we feel helpless to change any of it, and worry that our own actions would be insignificant. We’re consumed by the present, and climate change feels like a future problem. We’re also afraid of change itself, since we perceive change as a loss of a way of life built around expectations, comforts and convenience. Letting go of the idea of progress, which has bewitched our civilisation for thousands of years, seems impossible and foolish. Lertzman is convinced that the reason why communication campaigns that use denunciation and finger-wagging fail to galvanise the public is because people are already numb. The messaging is too far outside the zone of tolerance to land.
Perhaps my zone of tolerance is too broad, but I’ve been grieving since the mid 1980s when it looked like the world would be incinerated by nuclear war. Then along came the destruction of the rainforests, global warming and forever chemicals. Catastrophising about such things added a burden of depression and ecological despair to all the usual life tasks. At times it has been crippling, sometimes immobilising, but over the years I have learned to befriend these feelings and moods. I now accept that they are normal and appropriate responses to the ongoing devastation around us.
[ Meet Romulus and Remus, first of their kind for 10,000 years. Sort ofOpens in new window ]
When the climate crisis descends upon a particular place, instead of remaining an abstract, remote possibility, we can predict with certainty that human beings will respond courageously and cooperatively. A large body of research into people’s responses to disasters since the outbreak of first World War demonstrates what we should already intuitively know that crisis inspires altruism, optimism and often a new sense of shared purpose as people work together to salvage and rebuild, as well as seek consolation in community. And during times of crisis and upheaval, just like during the recent Storm Éowyn, it is social capital or the networks of human relationships that really matter. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina thousands of people took to tiny boats to rescue those who were trapped in New Orleans, saving hundreds of lives. After 9/11, more than a million people evacuated from lower Manhattan safely and calmly on foot in one afternoon, and armies of random strangers volunteered to help feed and resupply rescue workers, proving that anarchy and social disorder is not inevitable in the aftermath of a disaster.
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However, those suffering from psychological distress or mental health conditions will take no comfort from knowing that in a crisis, people will step up to help. Climate anxiety can incite despair and hopelessness which, for those with existing mental health problems, can lead to depression, substance abuse and suicidal ideation. When extreme weather events strike as they are in many parts of the world, mental health impacts include financial and relationship stress, increased risks of violence against women and girls, and displacement of entire communities.
Services are woefully inadequate for roughly 40 per cent of the Irish population that already experience mental health issues, and these services are often not tailored to the specific requirements or gender sensitivities of those who need them. For young people, rates of depression and anxiety fuelled by financial, housing and climate change worries are skyrocketing. A 2023 survey by the mental health charity Aware found that three-in-five of those surveyed report feeling anxious or depressed and Ireland has one of the highest rates in Europe of mental health disorders.
Research into the mental health impacts of climate breakdown finds that the psychological impact from any disaster exceeds physical injury by 40-1. In the case of flooding, the effects continue well after the event itself, peaking about six months later. And it will be no surprise to anyone that those most at risk of long-term mental effects are already marginalised based on their age, status, gender, culture, employment status and education. We will need our health infrastructure to be resourced adequately to cope with it. However, there is no mention of mental health impacts in the newly published climate action plan, climate-induced anxiety and depression also don’t feature in the government’s mental health strategy. Our brains and our hearts can join dots that the Government seemingly can’t.
Sadhbh Ó’ Neill is an environmental and climate activist and researcher
