A month of utter destruction caused by devastating wildfires.
Four months of nightly standoffs with protesters standing up for Black lives and against police brutality.
Eight months into a global health pandemic with no end in sight.
And within each ongoing event, a death toll. The emotional weight is stacking up.
“I imagine we’re going to look back on this historical time in the same way that people did going through World War II or other collective events,” said clinical psychologist Brian Pilecki of Portland Psychotherapy. “It is very hard on a psychological level for our brains to cope. There are certain elements of what is happening that kind of really target some of our vulnerabilities.”
Among those vulnerabilities is a natural desire for certainty, which Pilecki notes is in short supply this year.
“In general, humans are hard-wired to not like change. And this is a whole lot of change happening very quickly,” he said. “We want to predict what’s going to happen. And there’s so much uncertainty in so many different areas right now, it’s very hard for brains to cope with that.”
A June survey published by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that nationwide, people reported anxiety symptoms during the coronavirus pandemic triple the amount recorded in a similar study last spring and that instances of depression had quadrupled. Substance abuse and suicidal ideation were shown to be on the rise as well.
For people able to stay focused and functional right now, resilience is key. Psychologists describe it as the ability to adapt and recover from difficult situations. To a degree, Pilecki said, some people are naturally more resilient than others. But resilience is also a quality people can work to build within themselves.
“Resilience doesn’t mean that you’re not struggling or you feel confident,” he added. “Resilience is that you’re going to do your best, try to live in a way that’s consistent with your values in spite of all of this stress, all that is happening.”
Street Roots spoke with people at the forefront of some of this year’s most challenging events to get a grasp of how, exactly, they’re able to stay resilient in the face of additional stress, sleeplessness and incurred trauma that 2020 has wrought.
Their feelings and experiences range widely. But overwhelmingly, those working on the frontlines have a message for readers: find a community, decide on a purpose and hang on tight.
“What kind of person do I want to be during this pandemic?”
Pilecki is quick to shatter any illusions that therapists — however calm and collected they may seem during a session — aren’t struggling right now. Everyone is.
“It’s an appropriate response to be totally freaked out right now. It doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. It’s a normal response,” he said.
Specializing in anxiety disorders, trauma, mindfulness treatments and psychedelics, Pilecki saw his waitlist for services start to grow in June. He’s still having to turn prospective clients away as Portlanders grapple with anxiety, loneliness and depression.
He moved to Portland just last fall from the East Coast and lives alone. He hasn’t seen his family, or really anyone for that matter, since March. When most of the state shut down, he told Street Roots, a third of his clients stopped seeking services. For someone with a mountain of student loan debt, the financial stress was immense.
And usually, therapists will refer clients to another practitioner if they believe the client’s hardships might be too similar to what they’re going through themselves — in the event of a death, for instance. But nearly an entire year rattled by widespread financial insecurity and isolation is a different story, and Pilecki finds he’s facing the same issues all his clients are contending with.
There are days when he feels like giving up, which is OK, Pilecki said, but feeling like he’s doing something to contribute and imagining how he’d want to look back on himself during this bizarre moment in history are helping him get through it.
“I want to be someone who was there for other people,” he said. “I want to be someone who was positive, who was a voice for social change. Not somebody who just gave up, that’s not the story I want to tell.”
And without usual outlets, he’s focused on looking for ways to relieve stress and make connections.
“Put yourself outside of your comfort zone to try to find ways to adapt to the situation. What is possible, even if it doesn’t feel like it will be helpful?” he said.
“If we all have empathy, maybe we can get through all of this stuff.”
Dr. Ritu Sahni is no stranger to handling the art of a difficult and urgent moment.
“Who doesn’t want to be in a gig where you learn how to take care of things in an emergency?” he told Street Roots.
He’s spent 20 years as an emergency physician and now works at Providence Portland Medical Center. He’s also the medical director of Emergency Medical Services for both Clackamas and Washington counties, which means he works to craft ever-changing health guidelines and policies for ambulance and firefighting crews in the area.
He said his brain is best fit for moments when there’s a lot going on at once. But this year is unprecedented.
Less than a month into 2020, the first case related to the COVID-19 pandemic was announced in Washington. Before the end of February, three people in the Seattle area had died. He watched in fear as friends in the emergency medical community working in Seattle and New York struggled on the frontlines. Workers were falling ill, hospitals were overflowing, and stocks of personal protective equipment were running dry.
“This has been a 7 1/2-month disaster,” he said. “I don’t think anything really has prepared anybody for this.”
It began with weeks of 12- to 14-hour shifts at the hospital. Time was crunched by new sanitation and personal protective equipment measures. Early on to reduce risks, Sahni contemplated moving temporarily out of his home in Lake Oswego, where he lives with his wife and mother-in-law, like other medical workers had.
But he’s glad he didn’t leave.
“I can’t emphasize enough, having family around that can help kind of defuse things and be there for you is really helpful,” Sahni said.
And when wildfires threatened local communities such as Molalla and Estacada, Sahni worked sometimes 80 hours a week directing fire departments and updating procedures to try and keep people safe from flames and viral spread.
“Sometimes you just run on adrenaline and get things done,” he said.
Sahni has replaced his usual stress-relieving activities, like going to Timbers games and enjoying the Portland food scene, with a regimen of walks, regular takeout and binge-worthy TV shows.
Emergency workers are often gregarious and resilient, qualities that go a long way in the face of crisis, Sahni said. “We need to do a better job, though, of reaching out to friends and family.”
Ahead, there’s still the looming threat of how a big flu season and a major election could potentially collide with the pandemic in the coming months. He’s hoping people will stay focused on taking care of themselves and the people they love.
“It feels a little bit like that ‘we’re all in this together’ moment is gone, and it would just be wonderful if we could get that back,” he said.
“The little things are the big things.”
Dr. Jason Campbell, is not only clocking in upwards of 55 hours a week as a resident anesthesiologist at Oregon Health & Science University during the pandemic; he’s also busy penning editorials about resilience and his experience growing up Black in America — exploring what he describes as the idea of “overcoming and becoming.”
He’s also cultivating a smile-worthy reputation as the “TikTok Doc” on social media, where he keeps spirits light at the hospital by teaming up with co-workers to bring a little dancing into an environment that others might find stressful or chaotic.
“Come for the Tik Toks, Stay for the Advocacy,” reads his Instagram account, which has garnered nearly 125,000 followers. Positivity practically radiates from Campbell. It’s evident in the way he talks, and in the fact that any time he walks into a bookstore, he’ll rush straight to the inspiration section.
“I’ve always been a pretty optimistic guy,” he said.
Campbell, who is originally from Washington, D.C., but has also lived in Ohio and Atlanta, credits the attitude in part to the unrelenting support of friends and family members. He was inspired initially to enter the medical field by his mother, who researches minority health disparities, and became interested in pediatric anesthesia later in medical school.
In his current residency, Campbell is focusing on finding evidence of smiles from behind the masks worn by his patients and finding new ways to stay positive while adjusting to life with less in-person training at the hospital.
“We’re not gathering together anymore,” he said. “I just think there’s a lot more isolation, and medicine can already be an isolating and daunting field, whether you’re a medical student or a resident.”
Early on, providing emotional and physical care to patients heading into surgery during a pandemic was stressful because patients were extremely limited in being able to have family in the room. But now, he said, there’s a lot more certainty in COVID-19 procedure and what’s expected in the weeks ahead.
To stay upbeat, Campbell remains grateful for small pleasures in life. The end of summer and the onset of Portland’s rainy season, for example, is a time for this former track athlete to celebrate “cross-country weather” — the perfect opportunity to take a run.
“It’s not just fires and blood and violence. There’s so much going on.”
The nearly 120 days of Black Lives Matter demonstrations happening in Portland are about much more than that, said Annie Schutz, a senior at Portland State University.
“There’s dancing, and there’s singing, and there’s art, and there’s educational speeches,” she told Street Roots. “It feels like a real sense of togetherness, and I feel like that isn’t being covered as much.”
Schutz, photo editor at Portland State University’s Vanguard newspaper, plans on pursuing sports photojournalism after graduation.
This summer, she’s found herself behind the lens during many Black Lives Matter events. In June, she captured images at the final Disarm PSU rally, as the university decided to disarm campus police. In that moment, she said, she felt her work had a definitive impact on the student body.
Since then, Schutz has balanced a buzzing freelance career alongside a full-time class schedule as a college student in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic. Recently, she published a photo essay in the Portland Mercury highlighting how Black organizers brought attention away from a September rally of right-wing hate groups and instead highlighted the historical significance of North Portland, the former site of the destroyed Black city Vanport.
“It’s not something I was planning on doing,” she said. “When the movement started, a lot of my fellow photographers, especially ones in the Black community, expressed that there needed to be more Black photographers covering a narrative about us.”
At this point, Schutz isn’t sleeping much, but she doesn’t mind. She’s determined to make it known through her photography the multi-faceted nature of the Black Lives Matter movement in Portland.
“I’ll be shooting the movement for as long as it lasts,” she said. “I want to do it because I want to help.”
Some aspects have been difficult. While during the day, Schutz is out covering demonstrations and rallies several times a week, in the evening, she frequently leaves her camera at home to join protesters. Getting tear-gassed was one of the worst experiences of her life.
One night, after watching someone get hit in the face with a rubber bullet, she had to take time away for a week.
“It is emotional, and it’s hard to be out there for so long and not see a lot of changes,” she said.
But Schutz makes a point not to photograph police, violence or counter-protesters. The movement is about Black lives, and making sure the public remembers that is a huge motivator to continue her work, she said.
Going out at night and seeing thousands of allies supporting Black lives has helped bolster Schultz’s drive. But knowing that there are thousands of people and many in positions of power still who are unwilling to acknowledge years of inequity and oppression makes this historic moment emotionally complicated.
“It feels like our government doesn’t care about us, and that’s not a new thing. That’s always taken a toll on me,” she said.
To process it all, Schutz is attending therapy and is adamant that it’s an important part of staying healthy through the movement.
“Every photographer and every Black person needs to be in therapy right now,” she said. “It’s good to just talk to people about everything that’s going on. When you can articulate what you’re feeling out loud, it’s really helped me.”
“There is relief knowing the people you’re talking to understand what it is you’re talking about.”
Alissa Azar is usually front and center documenting standoffs between police and protesters, but on a recent night, she had to turn off her phone and walk away to get a hold of her emotions before continuing with her work. It was an unusual occurrence for someone who has covered nearly every night of Black Lives Matter demonstrations in Portland since late May.
Azar, who describes herself as an independent journalist, is one of many social-media-based journalists capturing footage at the nightly demonstrations in an effort to hold the government and the Portland Police Bureau accountable for incidents of brutality.
“To think that I’m making even a little bit of a difference,” she said. “I’ve had people tell me that before consuming any of my work, they were under the impression that Portland was on fire.”
Azar was working a corporate 9-to-5 job as a data analyst before the coronavirus pandemic left her furloughed from work. When she started covering demonstrations at night, she said she’d never imagined they’d still be happening four months later.
The weight of covering nightly outings is starting to feel heavy.
“It’s been extremely traumatizing, I think a lot more than anyone who’s going through it realizes,” Azar told Street Roots.
OPINION: I am a mother and a teacher. Tear gas and bulletproof vests are not my normal.
She’s noticed she’s having difficulty lately relating to people who aren’t observing or participating in the movement right now. Loud noises are becoming more startling, and instances of dissociation are settling in. They’re symptoms that Azar and psychologists associate with trauma.
“It’s pretty all-consuming, in almost any way I can think of,” Azar said. “It feels like one thing after another. But also, kind of nothing at the same time.”
Where she’d usually go out with friends or take long drives and listen to music to calm down, Azar said she’s at a loss about how to cope among what she describes as “one tragic thing after another.
“Even though I feel like I’m fine right now, I know that I’m not,” she said.
But she said forming friendships with a group of journalists doing the same work has been a key component to her ability to stay motivated, even if all they can do is meet up in a public park to chat.
“I think that’s super important,” she said. “Just being able to relate. Hearing other people talk about it and kind of putting words to my own feelings that I wasn’t able to put to words before.”
“The camaraderie is a big part of what keeps us stable and focused.”
Usually, a fire season for wildland firefighter Akeem Farr lasts about 60 days. When Farr spoke with Street Roots this year, he and the crew of nearly 20 he leads as a squad boss with Grizzly Firefighters Inc. were 67 days deep into the fire season, with more to go.
“Fires have been getting bigger, faster, and the duration of the fire season has been stringing out longer,” he said.
Farr and his firefighters have spent the past few months jumping from California to Colorado, then to Southern Oregon, where the Almeda Fire burned more than 3,200 acres while adjusting to social-distancing measures, which have meant smaller camps and fewer communal meals for crew members.
Finally, Farr, who lives in Oregon, was able to head home. For a mere 14 hours.
Then it was straight to Willow Creek, Calif., to help contain the Red Salmon Complex Fire, which has been burning since late July. No structures had been burned, but it was threatening two towns when Farr spoke with Street Roots in late September. He anticipates being there until at least mid-October, working to burn areas back to prevent flames from spreading.
Farr’s career is one that requires razor-sharp adaptability and focus. It’s punctuated by sometimes 24-hour-long shifts, which he told Street Roots he manages with coffee, water and painfully brief catnaps.
“It’s tough. It is tough,” he said. “Sometimes it breaks my heart.”
One such shift happened in 2018 when Farr and his crew worked on the Camp Fire in Northern California, which devastated the small community of Paradise and ultimately resulted in 85 fatalities. Paradise had already burned, and another town was being threatened by the time he and the others set out to work. When they stopped for a 15-minute break, the whole crew fell asleep in the firetruck.
But Farr couldn’t shake the thought that in real time, people were losing their homes, belongings and loved ones.
“That’s a big part of our motivation. That’s kind of what keeps me going,” he said.
During high-stakes moments like that one, Farr said, directions and plans around containing a fire will change constantly. It builds character and, in the end, brings immense waves of gratitude and humility.
“But it also brings a lot of sadness, of course,” he said. “When a fire rips through a place, a place that a person grew up seeing all their life … for it to be gone, to never have that back the way it was, is pretty sad.”
A lot of wildland firefighters can handle the extreme physicality of the job. But having the mental strength to continue each day can take an extreme toll as well, as people struggle with being far from home and family for long periods of time. Farr and his crew are able to keep going in part by staying connected with each other.
“We motivate each other when we have down days. A lot of us have been around each other enough to know when things are off with one another,” he said. “As serious as the job is, we have to joke a lot.”