Eco-Grief & the Practice of Self-Compassion

On wildfires, non-separation, Paleolithic emotions, and learning to meet ourselves with kindness on a suffering planet

As I write, the air outside my home is choked with wildfire smoke. There’s a huge blaze burning out of control not far away. It’s barely rained for months. The leaves have withered and dropped off many trees, giving the world an eerily autumnal look.

Where used to live in the British Columbia Interior, this was…well, a normal day in August. Every summer involved drought and thick smoke from several nearby wildfires.

A key reason we moved our family to Nova Scotia was to avoid living with the effects of having these fiery symbols of the ecological crisis in our backyard. The wet Maritime climate was a big draw.

Yet, here I am again. Confronted with the trappings of human-caused climate change and environmental degradation.

Sitting with the grief. In tune with the deep sadness of a struggling natural world. Living with a nervous system tuned to a low level of fear that I might need to flee a fire at any time.

Then comes the inclination toward guilt. As a member of an overpopulated, overconsuming, and traumatized species, I contribute to this situation. At times, that guilt might even edge into the realm of shame. Am I a bad person because I’m not doing more to reduce my ecological footprint?

Sometimes anger accompanies the guilt and shame. Anger at myself for how I’m complicit in this situation. Or at governments, billionaires, people of certain political beliefs, and others who feel worthy of blame for their role in getting us here.

(Note: This systemic anger can be healthy when it inspires advocacy for change. But when it becomes entrenched as a narrative that pits one group of people against another, or a person against themselves, then it becomes part of the problem.)

What I’ve learned is that guilt, shame, and anger can be present. There are no bad emotions. But I don’t have to buy into the stories they tell me. Particularly, the stories these feelings can conjure about my failures as a human.

Self-compassion is the antidote to these narratives. When self-compassion is present, it makes compassion for others possible. And that can be part of the solution to this whole mess. A change that inspires a different way forward.

With that said, I’d like to share some perspectives that help me maintain self-compassion and stay resilient as I move through this burning world.

Save the Earth because you love it.

When asked for his advice on how people should address the great ecological challenges of our time, the poet and godfather of environmentalism, Gary Snyder said:

“Don’t feel guilty. If you want to save (the Earth), don’t save it out of guilt, don’t save it out of fear, don’t save it out of anger. The guilt, the fear, and the anger are what have created our human problems. If you want to save it, save it because you love it. That’s the force that makes a difference.”

The love Snyder speaks about includes love for ourselves.

If we move through life laden with anger or sadness toward ourselves, that energy shapes the way we hold others and see the world around us.

Shame, guilt, and anger are incredibly uncomfortable emotions in the body. Without the skills or knowledge on how to hold these feelings with tenderness, our default (whether conscious or not) is to inflict our pain on other beings.

When we turn against ourselves, that inner conflict rarely stays contained. Most often, it spills out into the world around us. Onto the people we love—in the form of harsh words, subtle judgment, or passive aggressiveness.

Interpersonal conflict ripples outward. Into families, communities, and entire countries. Self-criticism is the seed for blame and division. It creates cycles of fear and hostility that lead to larger conflicts.

So, self-kindness is a radical act of peace-making that can disrupt this pattern of collective suffering.

We are the Earth.

Another perspective that helps me hold compassion for myself amidst the difficult things I witness is this:

I am not separate from the Earth. I am part of the Earth.

If I’m part of the Earth, I’m damaging my larger body. I am the Earth inflicting pain upon itself.

We, the Earth—in all our fragile and powerful beauty—are suffering right now. It’s as if we have an autoimmune illness inflicted by eons of collective trauma. It’s finally getting the best of us.

Collective trauma happens when emotional and psychological wounding gets shared through groups, communities, and entire generations. It sticks in the cultural memory and gets passed on in the form of stories, habitual behaviours, and particularly through our bodies. It shapes how we relate to ourselves, to each other, and the Earth as a whole.

If you knew a loved one who had suffered horrible trauma and was struggling with severe illness as a result, how would you want to relate to them? With kindness and care? Or with anger and guilt?

I believe, for most of us, the former would be the case.

So, the question I ask is: Can we, the Earth, see our suffering clearly and learn to relate to ourselves with compassion as we navigate these difficult times?

It isn’t our fault.

This point is based on a deep reading of scientific and humanistic perspectives about the human condition.

But it solidified for me recently during my second reading of Yuval Noah-Harari’s book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind.

Harari argues that humans rose to the top of the food chain too quickly, thanks to our advanced cognitive abilities and capacity to cooperate in large numbers. We climbed the ladder too fast, and other species couldn't keep up.

I recently explained it to a friend like this: Let’s assume a tiger starts out as a harmless herbivore. Then, an event requires it to hunt prey for survival.

Over tens of thousands of years, the cat evolves sharp claws and teeth, agility, and other traits to become a skilled hunter. While our cat's evolving, its prey are developing traits to help them avoid becoming tiger food.

For humans, our big brains and social intelligence let us skip many evolutionary steps. We didn’t need to evolve traits to become successful hunters. We could create weapons. We could work together at scale when hunting.

No matter the size or ferocity of the animal, it didn’t stand a chance against a group of savvy, well-armed humans.

So, I propose: What’s happening to the Earth and how we treat ourselves and each other—isn’t our fault. We’re living out the legacy of a huge evolutionary fluke.

Meeting our “Paleolithic emotions” with compassion

The thing is, we haven’t evolved much since we were running around with spears chasing mammoths and giant sloths.

Now, we have nuclear weapons, AI robots, ruthless logging machines, and factories spewing pollution into the environment to make said technologies.

The sociobiologist E.O. Wilson said, “The real problem of humanity is the following: we have Paleolithic emotions, medieval institutions, and god-like technology.”

The beauty of the human species, though, is that we have the ability (and I would say a do-or-die need) to intentionally evolve beyond these limitations.

One way to do that is through practicing self-compassion. By learning to see our difficult “Paleolithic emotions” clearly and offering ourselves care in the midst of our struggles, we lessen the amount of suffering in the world.

Mindfulness and self-compassion are tools that can help us make this much-needed evolutionary leap. (If you’re keen to get started, you can find some of my guided meditations here.)

When we learn to meet our own suffering with kindness, it’s easier to meet others’ struggles with care. Maybe then we will be able to come together and use our social and cognitive superpowers to right the ship and create a sustainable future for humanity.