Getting comfy with climate anxiety

Doing chores around the home after a long day of work is frustrating, and the coin toss between my husband and I is often a very reasonable "Which of us is less tired/irritated/frayed to take it on"? But the past few weeks, we've fought about it (I’ve erupted way more often than him).

We've squabbled because there's a deadline to it - acute water shortage in our city means we get water for a limited window in the day, which means we get a limited window to wash the vessels, run the washing machine, water the plants, fill the bottles and mop the floors, making us too tired and leaving us with too little time to do anything else for ourselves.

When I think about it with a cool head, it's not a big deal. People less privileged, for generations, have lived out their entire lives depending only on stored, and not running, water. Here, it's just the two of us at home, and no running water for a few hours a day is just a minor inconvenience. 

So, why do tempers flare?

The more I dig, the more I'm convinced that this minor inconvenience is provoking major fears about the future. We have less water now because last year's monsoon was poor. It was one of Bangalore's hottest years on record, and this year seems no different. These shortages of resources will likely only keep getting worse. And all of it is being caused by our changing climate.  

The signs of climate change are hard to miss - heat and cold waves, too little rain, too much rain, flooded rail tracks, dried-up canals, trees not blooming on time, trees blooming ahead of time –  it’s all enough to stir up crippling anxiety for our present, and existential dread for our future and it’s affecting everyone, from Gen Xers working towards early retirement to Gen Z, who are just getting their lives started. It conjures up a grief that we are forced to confront every waking hour and live with for the rest of our lives. The climate crisis is asking us to become comfortable with uncertainty and sit with it without shutting down. 

It conjures up a grief that we are forced to confront every waking hour and live with for the rest of our lives.

It’s no surprise then, that Google searches for terms such as “Climate Anxiety” and “Eco-Anxiety” have soared over the past few years. According to this November 2023 BBC report, English language Google search queries around "climate anxiety" in the first 10 months of 2023 were 27 times higher than the same period in 2017. The dialogue around the mental impacts of climate change is also getting louder, with the IPCC reporting about it in 2022 and sessions planned around it at the 2023 Dubai COP28. 

And, academic papers arguing the psychological impact of climate change that were dismissed just a decade ago are now being revisited and taken more seriously as more and more counsellors report having to deal with eco-anxiety in the therapy room.  

This whole idea of becoming comfortable with not knowing what happens next is both physically and mentally taxing. I feel the climate crisis in my body – a kind of stiffening of my shoulders and sinking of my gut every time I think about it. And it hits me randomly. 

The other day, driving back from work, I witnessed a spectacular sunset. A perfectly round, crimson sun so large on the horizon, setting behind a cluster of blooming tabebuia trees and the Metro line in the backdrop. I enjoyed the beauty for a moment, and in the very next, felt a sense of loss. “Will I be able to enjoy this beauty tomorrow?

A run in the park, and I notice the bright orange Palash flowers, aka “flame of the forest”  in full bloom in early January – an entire month ahead of schedule. Palash flowers bloom as temperatures rise during Spring and its early blooming was a small sign of a warming planet. Again, a moment of joy followed by grief.

It hits me when I plan my finances. Hustling in my 20s and 30s so that I could finally afford to leave the city and build a tiny house and garden on some small piece of land in a small village in my 40s. But then, I remember, what if nothing stays the same 10 years from now? What if there is no small piece of habitable land left for me? What is the point of anything at all?

It hits me when I argue with elders about why I don’t want to have kids. 

In all, it’s a constant lump-in-my-throat, slowly chipping away at my heart. My googling of this feeling led me to a recently released book The Exhausted of the Earth, in which political theorist Ajay Singh Chaudhary argues that how we feel and the state of the world are connected. While I wait for the book to become available at my nearest bookshop, I read up a bit about his analysis of how climate change and politics interact and found some sense, and comfort in it. He explores the idea of doing something about it, mitigation and adaptation, and makes the case for moving to a slower pace of life. 

It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, transition to a slower life. But for that, I must have hope that we will still have this planet, its riches and beauty for a long time to come. Working in the sustainability sector, I want to believe that we can either mitigate climate change or if we can’t, at least develop ways to preserve what we have and adapt in the best way possible.

But believing begins with the very difficult task of dealing with my emotions in the now, being patient with the inconveniences, doing my bit for the planet and being part of communities that are doing so, and well, just hoping for the best. 

A Gramsci-isque pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will life view. Easier said than done.