Living a Lecture

As a social work professor and evacuee of the Valley Fire—who has taught classes on death and dying—I am now living one of my lectures.

By Fiona Bullock, MSW, DAAETS

It is my area of expertise — trauma, loss, and grief. I’ve trained in it. Practiced with children, teens, adults and families impacted by war, death, illness, abuse, and other losses. I teach social work students the theories and skills for dealing with people in crisis. I teach a special Death and Dying class for First Responders. Now I’m living one of my lectures.

I’m a social work professor, who is currently an evacuee of the Valley Fire in Lake County, California. It’s been almost several weeks since we ran from our house on Cobb Mountain, with a fire raging up the hill right below our home. Less than two hours later we were evacuated a second time — now from our daughter’s house in Hidden Valley, where we had sought shelter. In this case it took over an hour to leave through the one open exit in this gated community, as the fire had rapidly spread to other exits and was currently burning houses along the escape route.

During these past days, I have had time to reflect on the important lessons I have learned from being on the other side of the helping relationship. Some of the most important realizations have been:

Human connection is vital. The ability to connect with others for support and information is extremely important during a disaster. An example of the need for connection happened early the first day after our evacuation. Due to the rapid and deadly spread of the fire, many people were left with only the clothes on their backs. This necessitated emergency shopping trips to either the local Walmart or Kmart.

As my daughter and I were going through the aisles of Kmart picking up socks, underwear, pants, shoes and other essentials, we ran into the same individuals throughout the store. Conversations were started: “Where did you live?” “Do you know anything about your house?” Stories and losses were shared. Individuals, both friends and strangers alike, hugged and comforted each other. People cried with no shame and laughed with little embarrassment or guilt. The outcome of the fire couldn’t be changed by those in this informal support group, but here in the middle of Kmart, resilience, courage and hope were shared and strengthened.

While I’m not a huge fan of social media, the ability to post your status in order to keep relatives updated on your safety is priceless. We’ve received many comments from relatives and friends who relayed how comforted and thankful they’ve been to receive daily updates. It is a good reminder how feelings of helplessness and the lack of information can cause such anxiety for families and friends who have loved ones involved in disasters.

For my teenage son, his cell phone has been a vital link for him to keep in touch with his displaced support system. He and his friends have witnessed firsthand the devastation the fire caused in our community. His friends have lost houses, pets and security. My son experienced two close evacuations, one where we were essentially trapped in our car with fire burning nearby.

At that point he stated, “I rather jump in Hidden Valley Lake and drown than burn to death in our car.”

Since the high school has been closed for two weeks, his ability to process the events has been limited to phone calls, texts and Instagram. But this link has been invaluable in helping him remain connected and supported.

Be careful with the words you use and where you use them. Two days ago I stopped at a local deli to pick up a water and sandwich and, if I’m to be honest, for a distraction. I had just been stopped and turned away at a roadblock, trying to get to our house to look for our missing pet.

As I stood in line behind a Red Cross worker and several insurance representatives, I was feeling helpless, frustrated and scared. Behind me were several other locals, waiting quietly with their purchases. As we stood there, we listened to the volunteer complain about how she hasn’t had decent meals since she arrived on the scene and complained how she had only had a yogurt for dinner the night before.

We listened to how disappointing it was for them, that there weren’t restaurants open after 8pm and how many long hours they worked. We watched them discuss whose credit card the food should be placed on for record keeping purposes. I know how hard and necessary the work they are doing is to the members of the community.

I understand the need to defuse and be yourself outside the professional role. What bothered me was the lack of awareness of their surroundings and how insensitive their conversation was, relative to the losses and realities of those around them. It made me wonder if I had ever been thoughtless in the words or laughter I had shared with a colleague when in the presence of our clients who may be dealing life altering circumstances. I am reminded to always be conscious of where I am and to maintain my professional demeanor in a sensitive manner.

Money matters. Lake County is racked by poverty, disability and lack of economic opportunities. I know this firsthand from the two hunger studies I’ve done in conjunction with the Lake County Hunger Task Force and the homeless count my students and I participated in last year.

I saw this from a different perspective during the fire and in the days afterward. As the sheriff was warning us to evacuate, I witnessed a woman walking around the neighborhood looking for her daughter. I asked her if she needed help. She said her car didn’t work, she hadn’t been able to repair it, and that she needed to keep going. People with limited incomes, who evacuated with no clothing and essentials, were vulnerable in the immediate hours after the fire. Some needed gas, others food and water, and others a place to stay. I heard stories of people who stayed with friends on fixed incomes that were sharing their shelter, but who couldn’t afford to offer their limited food. It gave me a small glimpse of how vulnerable and at-risk those with limited financial resources are during a disaster. What if you had a car, but it was on empty because you didn’t have money for gas? What if your only mode of transportation is a scooter (which I know is not uncommon from my research)? How would you evacuate? What about those who rented and didn’t have money for renters’ insurance and lost everything? I know the efforts of numerous relief agencies and programs will help with these needs.

But what about the additional feelings of helplessness and fear during the actual crisis? As affected as I am from my experience with the fire, I cannot imagine dealing with the additional stress and pressure of having no money to help buffer the impact of our evacuation. As a profession, we need to continue to be cognizant of low-income status on the ability of families to survive and subsequently recover from disasters, not just financially, but also emotionally.

Social workers must keep updated on the best ways to reach clients during emergencies. Social media were extremely effective in providing information about resources and help on a “real time” basis. Many evacuees, myself included, searched constantly for current information provided by online local newspapers, postings on CalFire, and Facebook. I’ve certainly seen the benefit of social service agencies having not only a webpage, but also a Facebook page their clients can access. As so many people were displaced around and out of the county, these links provided a connection that gave many of us peace of mind. Not only were these online sites useful for evacuees, they also were essential in coordinating donations to meet the needs of those displaced. Whether that be dog and cat food for the hundreds of pets impacted by the fire or hay for the livestock which survived the firestorm. It goes without saying that having ways to track and contact vulnerable and frail clients, who may be at increased risk during a disaster, is vital. While the death toll is not complete for the Valley Fire, at least three seniors over the age of 60 have perished.

The need to set professional boundaries and practice self-care. Weeks before the Valley Fire, Lake County was hit with the Jerusalem and Rocky Fires. During that time, the Red Cross set up an emergency shelter at the Middletown High School. I went by and dropped off my business card in case I could be of any service in helping provide either direct or indirect (in-service training) mental health support. Like others in the community, I felt helpless to the needs of those facing displacement and loss, and wanted to provide any assistance I could. Now I’m the one displaced and in need. Being the one to give up control and accept the gifts of shelter, food, and support from others has increased my empathy and awareness of wat it means for our clients to seek and accept help. It is a humbling lesson I will never take for granted.

As far as setting boundaries and practicing self-care, that crystallized for me as I drove past the Moose Lodge that was a hub for evacuees needing assistance. My first inclination was to go and see if they needed my help. But I stopped and took inventory. I was fatigued, depleted, and not in any position to effectively serve in the capacity of a social worker. My priorities now, were to take care of my family and myself. I realized, with some difficulty, that this was OK. I recognized that there were other volunteers in place, doing what they were trained to do. In addition to that, what kind of hypocrite would I be, if I taught my students what a strength and necessity practicing self-care is, if I couldn’t practice it myself? I am reminded that I need to set boundaries and recognize my limitations for the good of my clients, family, and myself.

Never discount the impact of little acts of kindness. One of the most meaningful acts of kindness was performed by our State Farm agent. Since we have not been able to reach our house, which is at the epicenter of the fire, I have been extremely worried about the welfare of our three cats. The ASPCA has been invaluable in making food and water runs around the county throughout the disaster. However, I wanted to make sure my cats were OK. Yesterday, our insurance agent was finally allowed into our neighborhood to check our house. On his own accord, he personally bought cat food and left it for our cats, as well as refilling their water bowls. Hearing this made me break down in tears. It wasn’t a financial check for our material losses or property, it was more important than that. He heard my concern and validated my emotional need to learn about the welfare of my pets. It was a sterling example of starting where the client is, tuning in to their needs, and going the extra mile.

I’m sure in the following weeks, months and years, I will learn more personal and professional lessons from this disaster. But right now, even as I step out of my professional role, I feel a renewed pride in the social work profession. I’ve seen and now experienced the ability of social workers to help coordinate disaster efforts, provide mental health services, and reach out to those in need with compassion and expertise. Our service makes a difference. And this may be one of the best lessons of all.

Fiona Bullock, MSW, DAAETS, is an Associate Professor of Social Work at Pacific Union College, in Angwin, California. She is Board Certified in Bereavement Trauma from the American Academy of Experts in Traumatic Stress and holds Diplomate Status with the National Center for Crisis Management. This article was written during her two-week evacuation during the Valley Fire.