Thousands of structures have been damaged in the fires that have besieged Los Angeles. Which means you probably know someone (or several people) who has experienced the loss of their home and beloved possessions. Your instinct is to reach out, and you should. But too often we hear phrases like:
“Things are replaceable.”
“Look on the bright side: at least you're safe!”
“They're just things.”
Or, perhaps worst of all: “You should make a gratitude list.”
This is toxic positivity and, according to Yvonne Thomas, a Los Angeles-based grief and loss psychologist, it is an act that “artificially interferes with a person's ability to genuinely be in touch with and feel their feelings, even if those “Feelings are not so pleasant but they are appropriate to the given moment.”
It is a tendency to put an incessantly positive spin on everything, even when it is not necessary. For example, telling someone who has just lost their home, “At least you're alive,” can come off as derogatory and invalidate their pain. Similarly, reassuring someone who has lost a home or loved one that “everything happens for a reason” can make them feel pressured to suppress their grief rather than process it naturally.
Things can get worse when someone uses these phrases during a time of loss. In a disaster zone, like the unprecedented fires in Los Angeles, it can be overwhelming. Avoid saying things like “Don't worry. Things can only get better”, “You will recover in no time” or “At least you still have each other”.
When you offer your condolences, it's important to remember to let the person feeling the trauma find those moments of positivity for themselves.
“If someone has lost their home, they feel waves of emotions,” Thomas says. “Let them tell you, 'Oh, at least I was able to save my cat,' but don't say that for them.”
When Christina Glabas lost everything in a house fire in Portland, Oregon, in 2018, her mother immediately told her that everything would be okay, that she was strong, and that she would land on her feet.
“I found this very alienating,” says Glabas. “I never said it would be okay.”
For Glabas, having people assume how she felt was stressful and even harmful to her.
“Doing things that aren't helpful in this situation can actually push people over the edge,” he says. “Now I have to lie to you to make you feel better about what you said.”
And, Glabas says, it's important to remember that people will need support (both material and emotional) for years after the tragedy. He remembers a period of post-traumatic stress disorder when the fire was the only thing he could talk about.
“Remember, this is what your lives are going to be like for the next three to five years,” he says. “They're going to be talking about that, and maybe only that, for years, and that requires a lot of patience. Many people are rallying for support in the days ahead, but where is the help a year later?”
Still, Thomas says it's important to remember that there's a fine line between toxic positivity and just plain toxic negativity.
“You don't want to sugarcoat, gloss over, and not acknowledge what has happened,” he says, “but you also don't want to become so demoralized and upset that it will add to the other person's discomfort. It can make the other person depressed and not even hear your condolences.”
After a disaster, a whirlwind of emotions can arise that often takes people by surprise. Among these feelings is a complex mix of resentment and jealousy, even toward those who have lost everything. This emotional turmoil is compounded by an overwhelming sense of empathy and over-identification with victims which, paradoxically, can have detrimental consequences.
“Many people feel survivor's guilt,” Thomas explains, highlighting a common but deeply disturbing reaction. This guilt can manifest itself in a variety of ways, from questioning why they were saved to feeling like they don't deserve their safety, further complicating the healing process for survivors and viewers alike.
The best thing to do, he says, is to keep it simple.
“People don't know how to say, 'I'm sorry for your loss,'” he says. “It's one of the hardest things to do.”
Often the most meaningful gesture is to keep it simple and sincere: “I'm sorry for your loss.” Offering a listening ear or a comforting presence can say a lot when words seem inadequate.
And for those going through grief and loss, it can be helpful to allow others to offer support, even if they stumble in their efforts. Open the door to connection, express your needs clearly, and remember that vulnerability can foster deeper understanding and healing. Let people be there for you, don't bury your feelings, but make it clear how you would like to talk about your loss.
