Finding a Place to Scream
And Other Roads to Catharsis
Not seventy-two hours after the election results, a bushfire blazed through Prospect Park, my happy place in New York City. It felt like the exclamation point on a week that didn’t need one. My attempt to carve out a brief reprieve from the relentless news cycle—climate terrorist appointees and all—was thwarted as the climate crisis literally ignited in my backyard.
Overwhelmed, I reflected on the past decade of political chaos: the Muslim ban, the pandemic (remember when we pretended it was over?), the dismantling of environmental protections, and an actual insurrection—for starters. Then my thoughts drifted back further, nearly twenty years, to Hurricane Katrina. Every hurricane since has brought with it the same gut-wrenching dread, a reminder of our fragility and lack of preparation.
It feels like the next catastrophe lands before we’ve had time to process the last one. The collective trauma of these years—layered and compounding—has taken a toll on our mental health, energy, and hope. For years, I tried not to be a harbinger of doom, but I’ve learned that denying the toll does nothing but let it fester. Acknowledging it is the only way to ensure it doesn’t swallow me whole.
After the smoke cleared, I went for a walk in Prospect Park with my toddler. In the distance, we heard the most beautiful, cathartic scream echo through the trees. My son, ever the imitator, giggled and joined in with his own miniature roar. Inspired by his shameless embrace of feelings, I did the same. A deep, unbridled scream. No shame. No second-guessing. Just release.
And let me tell you—it was glorious. (For the record, we could see the other screamer, and they were fine. There’s a distinct difference between distress and catharsis.)
Since that moment, I’ve been thinking about how we process these overwhelming emotions and how essential it is to find moments of release as we continue fighting for a better world. Here are a few ways I’ve found helpful—and they’re always worth revisiting as needed:
1. Find a Place to Scream
Whether it’s deep in the woods, in your car, or into a pillow, just let it out. Living in a big city, finding a private scream spot can be tricky, but the beauty of modern stress is that most people get it. You might even inspire someone else to let go of their own tightly coiled frustration.
2. Rage Journal
Write it all down. Every angry, unfiltered thought. Say what you’d never actually say out loud. Then destroy it—burn it, shred it, toss it. The release is in the process. Bonus: it might save you from becoming an internet troll, a habit that (spoiler) convinces no one of anything.
3. Be In Community
Talk to someone who gets it—a friend, a family member, a therapist. Or consider joining a climate cafe or hosting a listening circle. These spaces can hold and validate your emotions while reminding you that you’re not alone.
A Final Note on Grief
Grief is not linear. You may move from anger to acceptance, only to circle back again. That’s normal. It’s human. It’s OK to not be OK. Letting yourself feel it all is part of the process of moving forward.
What’s been your go-to for catharsis lately?
Let’s keep the conversation going—share your methods in the comments.
Where Mindfulness Meets Climate Action - Save Our Happy Place is a resource to help align your mindset, intentions, and actions to save the planet from climate change. Learn how to incorporate small, digestible acts while garnering accumulative impact, championing optimism, and maintaining “personal sustainability”, written by Lindsay Nunez.