Grieving People and Land: Navigating Trauma and Healing in Western North Carolina
Oct 25, 2024In the wake of Hurricane Helene, in Western North Carolina, we are navigating profound grief. At the heart of this grief are the lives we’ve lost—family members, friends, and neighbors. The people are the heart and soul of Appalachia, and their presence, love, and impact will forever be etched in these mountains and in our hearts.
Many of us were called to this land on a soul level. Our connection to this place runs deeper than we know—there’s an ancient pull, a shared understanding between our souls and the land that goes beyond the physical. The mountains, rivers, and valleys have always held a special place in our lives, but they have also held our spirits. Most of us came here for healing. And in many ways, we and the land are one, bound together beyond the confines of time and space.
As we process the magnitude of this loss, many of us are moving through what Elisabeth Kübler-Ross described as the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Grief is not a linear experience; it is fluid and often comes in waves. Some of us are still in shock and disbelief, others may feel anger at the forces beyond our control, and still others may be sitting with the profound sadness of what has been taken from us. This grief is different for each of us, and it may be months or even years before we reach a place of acceptance. But just as in personal loss, we’re moving through it together, each stage a part of honoring what we have lost.
In times of deep grief and trauma, we are at our most vulnerable. This is often when people turn to psychiatry for relief, seeking to manage the overwhelming pain. During these moments, many are first prescribed antidepressants or other psychotropic drugs, which can temporarily numb emotional turmoil. However, while these medications may provide short-term relief, they often hinder the natural process of grieving and healing. Over time, many become dependent on these drugs, finding it difficult to stop. What begins as a way to cope can eventually disconnect individuals from their emotions, preventing them from fully processing the grief needed for true healing.
In my experience, I’ve witnessed how conventional psychiatry often focuses on symptom management through medication rather than addressing the underlying trauma, leaving unresolved pain beneath the surface. Recognizing this, and the tendency toward polypharmacy among many psychiatric providers, I chose to take a holistic approach. My focus shifted toward deprescribing and tapering psychiatric drugs, a skill I pursued through specialized training outside of my formal education. This was a necessary step, as I saw the long-term effects of many of these drugs causing more harm than good.
It’s crucial to understand, however, that being in the midst of trauma is not the time to begin tapering. Psychiatric drugs have their place in acute situations like this, and when needed, they should be used carefully—at the lowest dose and for the shortest duration possible. When pharmaceutical intervention is necessary, it must be approached with care, always as a temporary measure, while deeper healing takes place.
During crises like this, working with a psychiatric provider who specializes in trauma healing and addictions is essential. Many people turn to substances to numb the pain of trauma, which can complicate their healing journey. A holistic approach that addresses the root causes of trauma and addiction provides a path forward that emphasizes true healing and recovery rather than continued numbing.
Just as we seek to heal the wounds within ourselves, we are reminded that our connection to the land can also be a source of grounding and continuity. In this moment of grief, it’s important to remember the deeper connection we share not only with those we’ve lost but also with the land herself. Within this connection is something that endures beyond physical death: somatids. Somatids are tiny, resilient particles present in our blood, believed by some to live forever. According to this view, somatids from our ancestors still exist in the soil, a living legacy connecting past generations to the earth we walk on today. Before the conventional practice of embalming and placing bodies in metal caskets, the bodies of our loved ones would naturally return to the soil, continuing the cycle of life and death. These somatids would contribute to the richness of the earth, keeping a tangible connection between the generations and grounding us spiritually to the land.
Our ancestors understood this connection between death and the earth. They knew that in returning to the land, their bodies nourished new growth, continuing the cycle of life. But with modern practices around death and burial, this understanding has been lost, making it harder to accept both human death and the loss of the land itself. Embalming and encasing bodies in metal caskets interrupts the natural return of our bodies to the earth. On a spiritual level, this process feels like a disconnection from the sacred cycle of life and death. It keeps us from fully returning to the soil, disrupting the bond that links us to our ancestors and, ultimately, to ourselves, each other, and God. This interruption may be one reason our grief feels so complex and heavy—without an understanding of death as part of life’s natural rhythm, it becomes harder to process loss and to feel the ongoing connection between past and present, earth and spirit.
Just as we grieve the loss of loved ones, we also grieve the land, as both are tied to our sense of belonging, home, and continuity. In many ways, our grief for the land mirrors the grief we feel for the people we have lost. The land holds our memories, just as our loved ones held our hearts. The villages and towns swept away by Helene were not just physical spaces—they were places where our lives intertwined, where connections were made, and where memories took root. The loss of these places feels profound because it’s tied to our sense of home, belonging, and life itself. We are grieving both the people and the land because both are part of who we are, part of the same cycle of life that binds us to this earth and to each other.
I remember losing track of the phases of the moon in the immediate aftermath of Helene. I always know where the moon is, but I had lost track. With no reception for four days and no way to communicate, I was in a state of shock, a full-blown trauma reaction when the images and news finally started flooding in once I reconnected. The first sliver of the moon appeared around October 4th or 5th—just a tiny thumbnail, like the Cheshire Cat's grin—and for the first time, I felt a sense of calm. The moon was still there. It was the first glimpse of normalcy I had in the aftermath of Helene. That sliver of light reminded me that the world was still turning, that life would somehow move forward. And now, the Day of the Dead falls on the next New Moon, completing the first full cycle since the storm.
This moon cycle offers us an opportunity to clear the trauma we've been holding over the past month. Just as the moon has moved through her phases, we too can begin to heal, to release the weight of what we've experienced. There’s a sense of completion here, a chance to honor all we’ve been through and all we’ve lost, knowing that life continues its cycle, just as it always has.
As we reflect on our losses, many have heard a message in moments of meditation and prayer: the land is fine. The earth, like the souls of our loved ones, is resilient. She has endured cycles of destruction and renewal for millennia. The land will recover, and the rivers will find new paths. But what we grieve most deeply is the absence of the lives that were intertwined within these places, and the people left behind who now face the challenge of rebuilding.
For those bodies not recovered after the hurricane, we might find a small sliver of hope. In their return to the earth, their somatids are able to rejoin the natural cycle, becoming part of the land herself. Could this be a hidden blessing? A chance to complete the profound cycle of life and death that modern burial practices prevent? Though their loss is deeply painful, there may be comfort and hope in knowing that as they return to the land, their somatids will live on forever in these mountains, guiding us along our path for whatever is coming next.
In our grief, we must take time to care for each other. While the land will heal, it is the people who remain that need our support and love. Just as we tend to the memories of those who have passed, we must also tend to the memories of the places that have changed. Through this collective grief, we honor both the people we have lost and the land we live on, knowing that in time, we will find ways to rebuild and continue the cycle of life.
In honor of those who have passed as a result of Hurricane Helene—family, friends, pets, homes, and the land itself—the upcoming Day of the Dead on November 1st is a perfect time to host a fire ceremony and candlelight vigil. These overnight vigils offer a space to remember, reflect, and honor those who are no longer with us. Tending the fire throughout the night can symbolize our continuous connection to those we've lost and the healing energy of the land.
As we navigate our collective grief, it's important to remember that healing takes time and intention. Whether through a fire ceremony, a quiet moment of reflection, or simply allowing ourselves to feel the weight of the losses we've endured, we honor those we've lost and the land we hold dear. Though the path ahead may be uncertain, our connection to each other and to the earth remains strong. Together, we can move forward, not by forgetting the past, but by carrying its lessons with us and nurturing the resilience that exists within us all.
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