The place where I’ve spent my holidays for twenty years burned this summer.
Since getting back in September, I’ve realised I’m not the only one carrying this grief.
It’s a place full of memories.
Twenty years of family holidays.
Twenty years of landmarks, rituals, moments.
And this summer, it burned.
Nothing comparable, of course, to those who lost a home, belongings, sometimes an entire life built somewhere.
My loss is of a different kind.
And yet, I felt it. I still feel it.
It isn’t just holidays that were affected.
It’s something much deeper.
Since September, I’ve been seeing my clients again.
And I’m discovering that this topic is finding its way into our sessions.
A house threatened by flames.
Holidays cut short or turned upside down.
A beloved place that burned.
The heat, the drought, the fires.
Some tell me they had a good holiday.
And almost in the same sentence, they talk to me about sadness.
About worry.
Sometimes about helplessness.
One client used a word that has stayed with me.
Grief.
Grief for a beloved place.
But perhaps also grief for a certain kind of carefreeness.
For the idea, too, that some places, some landscapes, some landmarks will always be there.
For a long time, climate change could remain relatively abstract.
Curves, projections, extra degrees.
This summer, for many, it touched specific places.
Memories.
Habits.
Plans.
And perhaps something deeper still: the realisation that some landmarks we thought would last can disappear.
I welcome all of this in my sessions.
It’s my job.
But I’m not outside of what they’re telling me.
It saddens me too.
It worries me too.
And faced with some of their stories, I feel that helplessness too.
And of course, none of this stays at the office door.
We come back with our energy, our worries, our losses, our relationship to the future.
Even when, on the outside, “everyone’s back to work”.
So perhaps the real question isn’t only about the physical or economic impact of climate change.
It’s also about what it’s doing to our inner landscapes.
To our sense of security.
To our ability to look ahead.
To our relationship with what we thought would last.
What burns outside doesn’t stay outside.