Climate Cafés are carefully facilitated gatherings designed to foster supportive connections and meaningful conversations about climate change, biodiversity loss, environmental degradation, climate justice and the broader impacts of the climate crisis. These spaces invite participants to listen deeply – to each other and to themselves. They provide a contained and facilitated environment, where individuals can lower their defences, allowing them to face difficult truths with openness. In these shared experiences of loss and distress, participants find both solace and strength, confronting the realities of ecological collapse, while fostering collective resilience.

Hearing others’ stories helps people reframe their own – bringing renewed energy, clarity and a vision for engagement. It can also bring deep reflection on one’s life. The ripple effects of these insights extend from frontline activism to everyday acts of care – how we tend to our local environment, make financial choices, vote and live our lives in ways that support living systems.

"Not only have the climate cafés provided a space to express feelings of climate grief and distress, but I have learnt so much from listening to others speak about their experiences," (Participant.)

In 2022, Psychology for a Safe Climate (PSC), an Australian health promotion charity supporting people psychologically through the climate crisis, launched a climate café programme. I was one of the initial facilitators, InterVision mentors and the programme manager, following my experience of facilitating climate cafés in Extinction Rebellion global support. The programme began simply, as a monthly online gathering for people across Australia.

“ People working in climate and energy normally only share edited versions of their fears and feelings about the climate crisis, which can be lonely and prevent processing those feelings. The climate café was a revelatory and healing experience," (Participant.)

Early on, it became clear that many attendees felt deeply isolated in their climate distress. Some had endured direct climate-related disasters – the devastating 2019-20 bushfires, followed by floods, extreme rainfall, Covid-19 lockdowns and the escalating risk of further disasters. Others struggled with the global climate emergency and the failure of political leadership

Climate change was no longer a distant future threat – it was already at Australians’ front doors. A 2023 Climate Council report found that 80% of Australians had experienced at least one climate-related disaster since 2019: 63% had faced heatwaves, 47% flooding, 42% bushfires, 36% drought, 29% destructive storms and 8% landslides. The climate cafés became spaces where these statistics turned into real, lived stories.

Holding space for climate grief and trauma

As a climate-aware psychotherapist and facilitator with many years of experience, I was not immune to the deep emotional weight carried into these cafés. One story that stayed with me was from a woman who had been in bushland during the fires, listening to acres of animals screaming. After three days, the bush fell silent – a chilling relief that the suffering had ended, yet a haunting reminder of loss. The suffering had ended – but at what cost? It was estimated that three billion animals, including mammals, reptiles, birds and frogs, were killed or displaced during the megafires.

As someone who has always loved animals – especially Australia’s unique wildlife – this story cut deep. I live with an Alpine dingo named Sky. Listening to these accounts reinforced the importance of community spaces where we can process such profound grief. We need ways to collectively hold our heartbreak, to engage in grief rituals, and to transform sorrow into connection and care.

Developing a trauma-informed climate  café model

The opportunity to connect around feelings rather than around constant doing and action is a rare and wonderful thing in the climate movement. To slow our bodies, hearts and breath, to be together and to process the grief of the climate crisis, is a vital yet frequently neglected part of the change in climate justice movements, and PSC brings enormous skill and deep care to holding space for this through their climate cafés," (Participant).

Recognising the intensity of the trauma, grief and climate emotions arising in climate cafés, we successfully sought funding to develop a trauma-informed, culturally aware facilitator training. This training incorporated anti-oppression and decolonising practices and honoured Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander wisdom, particularly the tradition of yarning circles. These circles, practised for millennia, foster learning, respect and trust through deep listening and community sharing. In 2023, we trained 10 climate-aware practitioners from PSC’s practitioner membership and directory. We also created an ongoing peer-learning space called InterVision, where facilitators could reflect, support each other, and explore the challenges and stories emerging in cafés. This space has become one of the richest sources of learning for facilitators; fostering continuous growth and adaptation.

As the training expanded to the public, climate cafés reached an even wider range of practitioners: educators, scientists, researchers, social workers, mental health professionals, community leaders, doctors and activists. Participants included BIPOC (Black, Indigenous and People of Color), LGBTQIA+ individuals, young people, parents, older women, neurodivergent and disabled individuals, those with chronic illness, regional and rural Australians, farmers, activists and scientists. The most consistent feedback was a profound sense of relief: people no longer felt alone in their climate grief.

Climate cafés as a community-led mental health response

Community mental health calls for the design of support systems that are collective rather than individualistic, and that are flexible in response to feedback and changing conditions. PSC’s climate café model, with its emotional and relational infrastructure, was the first of its kind in Australia, reaching those in need of them most, such as climate activists, young people and researchers. Its pioneering approach both facilitates emotional support and nurtures resilience. Through participant feedback and facilitator insights, the model continues to evolve, ensuring it remains responsive to the communities it serves.

"Here, we can be who we are in this world of fluid emergent change, listening and maybe reflecting on where we presently are. Held warmly in this group, observations bubble to the surface, and we breathe together, stronger in our common grounding," (Participant).

Climate cafés create spaces where those who feel profound loss can share their experiences and find solidarity, rather than suffering in silence. In Darwin/Garramilla (on Larrakia Country), a climate café has been running for a year, consistently attended by activists and environmental advocates frustrated by political inaction. One young volunteer with Australian Parents for Climate Action attended the local Senate inquiry, probing $1.5 billion in federal funding promised to a Northern Territory gas processing precinct. Speaking out about her community’s climate anxiety to lawmakers, she said: “I know I’m not alone in my community. We now have climate cafés run by volunteers, offering a space to share our feelings about the climate crisis.” Her testimony highlighted for the attending Senators that even in Australia’s remote regions, people were motivated to gather and create their community spaces to process environmental grief. Her testimony was inscribed into the parliamentary record.

Providing climate cafés to the community in Garramilla/Darwin over the last 18 months has been a very rewarding process. For those willing to acknowledge their distress around the climate and polycrisis, the cafés provide a much-needed outlet to share their experience and connect with others. My sense is that a growing section of the population in the Northern Territory recognise the need for,  and benefits of, such opportunities.," (Charlie Ward, Facilitator).

Climate cafés are also addressing ‘Reef Grief’; helping people channel their grief into connection and resilience. Research from CSIRO (the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation), the University of Exeter and James Cook University found that half of those who live, visit or work on the Great Barrier Reef experience profound grief over its decline. With the reef experiencing its fifth mass bleaching event in eight years, feelings of loss and grief are intensifying. Climate cafés are providing a sanctuary and container for those at the frontline of the reef’s destruction; including parents mourning that their children may never see a thriving reef, and divers reckoning with the reality of once-pristine ecosystems in collapse. Yolanda Waters, a marine social scientist, described her recent experience w

"I feel so fortunate to live on one of the 900 islands in the Great Barrier Reef World Heritage Area. Climate cafés offer a chance to stop, take stock and process our emotional responses to these threatened, precious places together," (Chloe Watfern, Facilitator.)

In Lutruwita/Tasmania, where climate impacts are often underestimated, climate cafés are opening up a space to express ecological grief over dying forests, disappearing kelp forests and unprecedented ocean heatwaves. Facilitator and ecologist Therese Smith has worked with her school principal to introduce climate cafés into their school, supporting young people who are acutely aware of their changing world. Parents also regularly seek guidance for helping their children cope with climate distress.

Climate cafés are a tremendous space for sharing our feelings about the climate crisis and the world we find ourselves in. As someone who’s been involved in campaigning for the last 25 years and who has done a lot of very direct facilitation, it’s quite unlike anything else I’ve experienced in its openness and freedom, which enables a very genuine space of sharing to emerge. I’m still learning so much about it, but all of my experiences have shown a lot of promise for a very different way of showing up for this enormous, existential challenge, (Tim Hollo, Facilitator.)

Through the climate café programme, PSC is helping groups and communities navigate the emotional weight of the climate crisis/ polycrises. Too often, emotions are seen as private and secondary to action – but our feelings reveal what we care about and for whom. Climate cafés support people in voicing their care for each other and the living world, sense making and fertilising the ground for greater engagement and collaborations. Only through real community connection can we create new narratives about how to live, work, raise children and advocate with compassion, purpose and meaning, given the depth of uncertainty in these turbulent times.

The growth of climate cafés and their impact

Climate cafés continue to grow in response to community needs, with new facilitators stepping up from a variety of backgrounds in diverse locations and contexts. These spaces provide much-needed emotional support, while also nurturing deeper engagement with climate action. As facilitators hold space for grief, anger and uncertainty, they find this also creates openings for forms of hope, connection, and resilience.

In some communities, the cafés have led to greater political engagement, as participants feel emboldened to advocate for climate policies and share their stories in public forums. In others, they have become a bridge to intergenerational dialogue, where younger and older people come together to share their experiences, wisdom and fears about the changing world.

The model is ever evolving, shaped by the lived experiences of participants and the contexts of the cafés. The strength of climate cafés lies in their adaptability – whether in urban centres, regional communities, frontline activist spaces or schools, they offer a vital meeting place for collective emotional processing. As more people awaken to the reality of the climate crisis, these spaces will become ever-more essential, helping to sustain both individual wellbeing and the broader movement for climate justice.

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Christie Wilson is a climate-aware therapist and the Climate and Mental Health Manager at Psychology for a Safe Climate, where she leads the climate-aware practitioner professional development and Climate Café programmes. She has extensive experience in facilitating trauma-informed group processes around climate emotions, and in supporting climate leaders’ mental health.

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As many of you will already be aware, on 20 July 2025, on a Sunday morning, Australian time, the beloved Joanna Macy died. We want to take some time to honour her in this newsletter, as her work, her vision and her dreaming are foundational to the work that Psychology for a Safe Climate offers.

I first met Joanna in 2012 when I was travelling in California, and almost by chance, found myself on one of her intensives. After years of working in the environment space as a grassroots activist and then as a fledgling community organiser I was feeling a little lost. I knew I wanted to contribute and show up, and that climate change was the issue of our generation, but I felt disillusioned and disconnected from myself and the world around me. Meeting Joanna, and experiencing the Work that Reconnects brought me back into the deeper truth of who I was and what it meant to ‘show up’ at this time. There are few moments in life where you know they are turning points as they are happening. This first encounter with Joanna and her work was one such turning point for me, and I could feel it in the moment, changing my whole world and future before me.  A few years later I returned to live in California and had the privilege of learning directly from Joanna for the two years that I was there.

I would not be doing the work I do today without the pivotal role Joanna has played in my life as a teacher and guide. Joanna opened me to the fundamental and life-giving connection between grief and love that remains the hub of my life and work. Before I encountered Joanna and the Work that Reconnects, I felt compelled to justify and explain my advocacy for nature using the scientific and political framing of the culture I had grown up in (modern, Western, scientific, rational). Love was a sentimental, romantic, flimsy notion not to be touched upon publicly. But Joanna modelled a courageous reclamation and declaration of the love that is at the heart of all our activism and actions to protect nature. She moved beyond even that notion of separation and taught that our deep feelings are expressions of the earth, moving through us as earth.

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Joanna taught this by inviting people into experiences of this truth, rather than simply talking or lecturing about it. She offered practices that opened the body, heart and mind to new ways of feeling, listening and knowing that were rooted in connection and interdependence so that this knowledge lived on in our bones, not just our minds.

Here I am with Bronwyn Gresham facilitating the Mirror Walk (one such experiential practice from the Work that Reconnects) with the Learning Team from the Royal Botanic Gardens Victoria. It is always a joy to get outside and invite people to wander with one another, taking in the world as a mirror that reflects back who they really are. This practice softens and opens people to beauty, mystery and connection. When I first experienced it myself it completely altered my sense of self - which is to say, it undid me completely! In the months after I first did the Mirror Walk, every time I looked at a tree, or a river, or even a pile of rubbish by the side of the road, my whole sense of who I was dissolved, and I literally felt I was that tree, that river, that empty can rolling down the gutter. Slowly my old sense of self (or even what it meant to be a self) ebbed away and transformed into something far larger, more complex, more beautiful and freeing than what I had identified with before.

The day after she died I gathered with friends and others who had known Joanna in Australia at a friend’s property by the Birrarung river. As the sun went down we lit a fire and shared stories of Joanna. At the end we got talking about the Elm dance, and some people there had never done it, so myself and my dear friend Claire Dunn led the group through the steps together. As we moved the steps and listened to the song, we spoke the people and places we were grieving. I could feel every other time I had moved in a circle like this with others to this song, I could hear Joanna’s voice in my head, and the faces of the many others I have been in circle with in this way. I could feel all the generations who had moved in circles like this one, singing and honouring the places and beings that mattered to them. Suddenly Joanna’s death was more real to me because I was moving in my body with other people, I was speaking to what had been lost. The tears came, and with them, the relief of really feeling my grief. That was the beginning of assimilating the reality of Joanna’s death.

The practices of the Work that Reconnects return us again and again in this way to the ground of what is real. From there we have a place to take that next meaningful step, and this is what Joanna taught: how to alchemise and dance with the pain so that we can open to, and love our world, just as it is.

One of my own great joys as a facilitator, is witnessing others rediscover and reclaim their own love for our living earth. I’ll never forget a workshop some years ago when an older gentleman, who had been working in the environmental field his whole life shared in the closing circle with some softness and real astonishment that he had just realised that all of his work had really been motivated by love. In recognising and naming this I could see the fresh rootedness, confidence and strength in his body.

Recognising and naming our feelings can do this - to speak and experience our love resituates us in a lived and embodied truth that is energising and real. It awakens us also to the tangible responsibilities that accompany this connection and care. We act though, from love, rather than from obligation or even some sense of ‘doing the right thing’. In the current age of social media moralising, and obsession with appearances, this is no small thing.

Joanna's body of work as a scholar, as a facilitator and as a translator of Rilke is formidable, but in the end it was her presence, her courage to show up in her own pain and joy, moment to moment, that moved and changed me on a deep cellular level. One day I was sitting with her talking about her memoir Widening Circles and she said to me, "Beth, may you live a beautiful life!". This was no random platitude, it was like she tapped into the deepest possibility I was yearning for and gave me permission to live it.

Joanna was like that - her words and stories were transmissions of insight and love that extended you beyond what you thought was possible. And now more than ever, we need permission to dream into a world that is beyond what we think is possible.

My gratitude to have known this being is immense, and I vow to share what I have learned from her for the rest of my life.

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There’s a tension in the circle. It’s holding us together and keeping us apart, a bubbling up and a biting of tongues, and a new, live practice of listening. We’re on the beach in our first Climate Café.

I’m nervous, facilitating for the first time. We all revere the Great Barrier Reef and know that despite existential threats from poor water quality, unsustainable fishing, and coastal development, climate change threatens our beloved reef above all else.

We wiggle into wetsuits, squish a snorkel between our teeth, and with nothing but dive masks separating us from the big blue, we bear witness to the deadly aftermath of coral bleaching.

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We often talk of the horrors of climate change and coral bleaching. But we don’t often talk about what it does to someone – to watch an ecosystem collapse.

We try it now, many of us for the first time, attempting to match these emotions with words, and speak them aloud amongst peers. We’re a bit awkward, but committed, so we fiddle with the sand to make it easier somehow. We're doused with the temptation to correct each other, to help, to fix, solve, prove, heal, explain, question…hush. Instead, we cup rough grains of white sand, let them fall through our fingers and try again to listen.

We talk of timelines. My mind bends to comprehend what 6,500 years on Earth mean; the age of the Great Barrier Reef as we know it. I grasp far beyond my reach, imagining deep time; when generations of Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders were warmed by fires and hunted kangaroos on lands where the reef is now, because the Coral Sea wasn’t a sea yet. I wonder if we are the first to sit in a circle here.

The Gooreng Gooreng, Gurang, Bailai and Taribelang Bunda peoples are the Traditional Owners of what we now call, Heron Island. It’s the namesake of the elegant, long-legged seabird that flocks the islet, and is accessible by ferry from a Queensland town known for its smoking horizon and glittery port.

Its coal terminal is one of the largest in the world, and has exported over

1.5 billion tonnes of coal. 1.5 Billion. It’s another number I struggle to fathom.

But when the ferry launched – reef bound, we cruised past the smoking stacks pumping pollution into the atmosphere, and choiceless, I breathed it in.

The reefs here are considered some of the most majestic in the world. A moment ago, we were in the water, the snorkelling was still spectacular, still fun, and life surrounded me in every direction. A pipefish was hiding under peaks of coral rubble, a turtle was munching and crunching; left a trigger, right a glimmer. Immersed in a brine of awe and wonder, grief and sorrow, I glided over the fuzzy graveyard of algae-ridden coral skeletons, delighted by every vibrant pop of colour swimming by.

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Proud and embarrassed, we speak up for ourselves; we lament reefs already changed and lost; we encourage each other; confess our exhaustion; reveal the beauty and burden of loving nature amidst a nature crisis. But wait, is crisis the right word? We try to figure it out together. But we can only agree that an ongoing crisis seems incomprehensible.

I feel maddened, guilty, and lucky; discussing this tragedy – here – inside the jewel of the sea. ‘Why do I feel so alone in this climate mess – alone in my generation, my profession, my country, my family?’ We ask it in 100 different ways. ‘Me too,’ we all respond silently, nodding in accord.

I retreat to some private place in my mind, only to find a tiny seed of connection lodged there, longing for sense to grow from it.

I wonder what the reef might say, should we have the ears to hear more than the fading snap, crackle, pop* of this busy coral metropolis.

We’ve been good listeners. Now we drift in and out of focus, the sand cools beneath us, the sun sets in a blaze of hot colour right before our eyes, then disappears.

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*To hear the snap-crackle-pop sounds of the reef, click the link in the article and scroll down, or click here to go straight to the audio file. If you’d like to see how your carbon footprint compares to the 1.5 billion tonnes of coal exported from a single port, visit the What Can I Do page.

Bridget Ferguson is a writer, freediver & photographer. She is the Communications Coordinator for PSC & a CoralWatch Ambassador, she loves capturing stories of the Pacific.

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Many media outlets are calling this federal election the climate election. With many holding hope for the future of the political movement on climate action, our internal experiences may be complicated: this is the election result we may have been hoping for, and this is the election result we needed ten years ago….

Whether you find yourself feeling hopeful, hopeless, or at some more multi-layered in-between, I offer an exploration into hope as a practice we engage in on a social and relational level. Neo-liberal logic thrives on individualism as the foundation for change but considering hope as a radically relational act might help us to journey into the “culture of care” that Sally Weintrobe considers a crucial foundation of climate action. Keri Day explores hope as something which exists in our everyday and must live within our social rituals for engaging in the world even as we envision something better, she writes,

“Hope is not merely abstract theorizing but is rooted in the messiness, complexity and ambiguity of lived experience, practices, desires, and longings for alternative worlds located in the present”

Hope is a practice that occurs within and between people. Hope both requires a real contact with what is, and a wild imagination for what is possible. Frederick Bird explores how, specific to the climate crisis, hope entails the capacity to both imagine the best outcome but then ground next steps in what is plausible for the current reality rather than the utopian future that may be being envisioned. For him, this entails resourcing yourself with the opinions of others, both with similar and oppositional views to you, of what is possible. This also calls for a balance between immediate solutions and deep time.

Invitation

1. Get imaginal about what you want for climate future, what do you hope from this election outcome? Take 5 minutes to write it down or draw it just for yourself.

2. Voice this hope or vision to those around you. Get into conversations with people who you know and love, get into conversations with those who may have other ideas. Get their feedback as you dream up what is possible.

3. Come right back to this current moment in history and this moment in your own life, and decide what you can put your energy into right now. Hope becomes practical when we distill it into the next step we can take and are willing to invite others into the process.

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So often when we think of action on climate, we focus on the urgency of doing.

The measure of success becomes tied to results that often lie far beyond our locus of control. Yet, as Joanna Macy points out, there is a significant link between burnout and outcome-based hope. When, as advocates for justice, our sense of worth is dependent upon being able to measure the change we have created, it is likely that we will become disillusioned, despairing and depressed. Rebecca Solnit reminds us that we don’t engage in activism because it will work, but because it is right. Yet, we still need to look after ourselves emotionally in this process. Things can begin to feel pretty messy and difficult a lot of the time.

Bringing our whole messy humanness to this work requires self-compassion – the ability to show up for ourselves lovingly in challenging times. Self-compassion has been a mainstay of Psychology for a Safe Climate’s work since we began running workshops around 2015. Our climate work centers on the interrelationship between the systemic and the personal, inviting people to work with the challenge of meeting our own suffering and the world’s suffering from a place of presence and care.

Self-compassion is a key facet of PSC’s support model that falls under the category of ‘resilience’. While resilience typically suggests the idea of being able to ‘bounce back’ quickly from a challenge, or keep going in spite of the hardships, at PSC, we ask,

What if resilience was less about pushing through, and more about being with?

Kristen Neff, who popularized secular practices of self-compassion, has recently coined the term Fierce Self-Compassion, and we know that many of you will find this concept and these practices very helpful for ‘being with’ and ‘staying with’ what is most difficult.

According to Kristen Neff, “Fierce Self-Compassion involves ‘acting in the world’ to alleviate suffering. It tends to involve protecting, providing for, and motivating ourselves. Sometimes we need to stand tall and say no, draw boundaries, or fight injustice. Or we may need to say yes to ourselves, to do what’s needed to be happy rather than subordinating our needs to those of others.”

Rather than looking outward at catastrophe and blame, we look at what matters to us to bring wisdom to whatever our next step will be. Fierce Self-Compassion doesn’t exist alone because it isn’t always the wisest step for us to ‘take action’. It needs to be balanced by a Tender Self-Compassion, an inward turning to the places that hurt with an intention of nurturance and care. Tenderness and ferocity, in this way, meet each other as supportive partners. This month’s invitation to practice with a ‘fierce friend’ is drawn from a selection of practices on fierce self-compassion available on Neff’s website. We have found that when we kindle the warmth of this fierce self-compassion we can be deeply present with the climate crisis, and from this place, take clear-eyed, wholehearted action.

Invitation

1. Listen to the visualisation (Fierce Friend) from Kristen Neff (roughly 15 minutes.)

2. What did your fierce friend have to say? Take a moment to write down what you heard and learned from them.

“Psychology is not a profession of silence. It is a profession of conversation, of surfacing, sharing, and exploring feelings and emotion”

-Rebecca Weston, Climate Psychology Alliance of North America.

A climate cafe is a facilitated gathering place where supportive connections are made through sharing our feelings about the climate crisis – feelings that may not be so safe or welcomed to share elsewhere. There is no other agenda, no pressure to take action, no need to bring solutions. No expectation to do or fix, just an open invitation to share for a while with others who also care.

At PSC we have long understood that keeping silent about climate distress magnifies the harm this distress can cause. As Climate Psychologist Rebecca Weston explains, if climate distress cannot be shared these feelings remain “unsupported, unacknowledged, sequestered from human connection and left dangling and isolated. And in this kind of silence, all manner of defences kick in. And most of them are not helpful in addressing climate change.“

Our café is also a space for deeper listening. Listening is the often undervalued gift of deeper connection. We notice the need to be listened to most when that need is not met. In those moments we can feel the chill of disconnection. Perhaps you too have experienced this chill when your feelings about our shared climate crisis seem out of place or disruptive. Yet being witnesses to each other’s distress, we can experience connection, not being alone, not being crazy.

Climate cafés began as gatherings in actual local cafes. Through the pandemic, like so much else, climate cafes have gone online. While the actual smell of the coffee or temptations in the pastry display may be missing, online cafés have provided opportunities to meet together across distance and borders, and even time zones.

PSC’s cafés are among the first to be regularly offered here in Australia. They provide an opportunity to share local concerns about what is happening here on our frontline continent, in our regions and neighbourhoods. These are small monthly gatherings, modest in scale, a human-sized response in the midst of a global crisis. Yet these small gatherings are not isolated. We gather as part of a growing global community conversation, taking place in hundreds of other small cafes springing up across this precious planet. Concerned people talking and listening together, sharing, connecting, making a difference for each other.

You are very welcome to join us, and experience being part of this growing community of mutual care.

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“Creating a safe container for mutual revelation is a healing process. It is a simple ritual, yet few of us have been granted this type of sacred ground.”

-Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow

Recently I chaired a panel which brought together community leaders from Australia and the Pacific to tell their communities’ stories of enduring climate catastrophes and emerging practices for resilience. (Listen here). The theme that surfaced from the discussion of their own stories was the importance of storytelling to recovery from disaster and to sustain ongoing climate engagement.

Panelist Jo Dodds, President of Bushfire Survivors for Climate Action reported how, following the Black Summer fires, stories were spilling out in supermarket aisles day after day. “Telling our stories was an important part of recovery”, she said, while adding that there’s a limit to how many stories you can listen to while in the midst of shopping.

Permaculture educator and founder of Permayouth, Morag Gamble, shared that when young people from refugee camps in Africa and here in Australia share stories, they find feelings in common as they recognise how the climate crisis is affecting them all. “Often they tell me we’ve just not ever really had a space to speak up before, no one’s really listened or even asked.”

As a result of these facilitated cross-cultural conversations, many of the young people have become leaders for what they call ‘practivism’ in their various communities. They identify themselves as ‘possibilitarians’, finding a new language for themselves together.

Sharing stories and experiences plays a vital role in helping communities come together to face realities, express feelings, make meanings and commit to action. This is why creating contained spaces for sharing stories in groups is central to our work in Psychology for a Safe Climate.

When we can articulate, no matter how haltingly, our own experiences and feelings, it helps us to find our feet and develop new directions for the changing terrain of today’s world.

When we hear other’s stories, we can open our minds and hearts to new understandings of where we are, while forging common ground, companionship, insight and inspiration that nurtures resilience and the motivation to act.

Foundational to this work is the creation of a confidential safe space where stories can be shared, listened to deeply and reflected upon collectively. Psychotherapist Haaweatea Holly Bryson, another panellist, stressed the importance of simple rituals for creating and holding a supportive container when people share their stories. These rituals might include the ringing of a bell at the beginning and end of the sharing process, a grounding meditation at the start of the meeting, as well as strictly observed timekeeping and ground rules to ensure deep and respectful listening. Equally important, says Haaweatea, is to sit in a circle, so that participants can collectively be responsible for creating safety and for tracking one another. While not as embodied as meeting in person, online circles can also be safely held when all the participants can be seen on one screen.

We cannot evolve community-based perspectives, actions, and organisations vital for climate action without listening to each other’s stories of how it is on our lands and waters, and in our homes and hearts.

Out of this listening can come generative community dialogues which shift participants beyond their habitual assumptions and viewpoints, opening up the capacity for holding a multiplicity of perspectives and emergent meanings, while also providing a contained space to process together the way our world is changing.

If you would like to learn more about holding and experiencing a supportive sharing space for your own and others’ climate stories, PSC runs monthly online Climate Cafes. Sharing, listening and being quiet together are all part of Climate Cafes. Through telling and hearing one another’s stories we can together create a reflective space within which new stories can form for ourselves, our communities, our work and our world.

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Many of you attend PSC workshops, read our newsletter and have a passion for engaging with climate work due to a love for the earth, or maybe a love for humanity? Perhaps it’s a more specific love for your particular place, community and family. It’s a love that drives this work and a love that supports each of us to engage, over and over again, with scary potentials for the future and the deep sadness felt at this loss.

There’s a specific facet of love that I feel is what sustains love, what keeps it alive. Wonder. Awe. That experience of seeing something as if for the first time, or seeing something so beautiful it has the ability to change a previously held perception.

Wonder is something that we have in abundance as children. If you have a little one in your life, you might witness that very small children are almost perpetually in awe. Each insect, tree, flower, bird call, is a world unto itself in the eyes of a child. In that state of wonder, there is nowhere else to be and a beautiful conversation has the opportunity to blossom in that presence.

I have wandered through many of my favourite green spaces, so well trodden in my love for them and the comfort our meeting brings me, without paying more than a few moments of attention to the magical intricacies of the place. How many times have you done the same? I’ve asked myself a lot, what happens when we stop dwelling in the awesomeness of this natural world? My climate journey becomes narrowed towards “shoulds”, I notice my beliefs about how things ought to be and who should do what gets harsher, and there certainly isn’t time for slowness or pleasure.

Wondering is a skill that opens up how we think about the world and invites a deeper union with the life outside of ourselves. It encourages us to think differently. The more we practice wondering, the more we begin to think about the world with flexibility and curiosity, rather than believing that everything is fixed. This practice is an invitation for seeing a space you visit regularly through the eyes of a child. As we grow older, we are rewarded for knowing rather than wondering. This practice encourages you to play with wondering through the process of asking questions, even about things you think you already know the answer to.

Invitation to practice

1. As you visit a nature space you engage with regularly, begin to notice your external surroundings. Watch as your brain might label things: tree, bird, wattle.

2. Consider what it might be like to tap into a childlike sense of curiosity. To take in the world as if for the first time and without any prior assumptions or expectations. To do this, ask questions about the natural world; what you see, smell and feel. What do you notice?

3. Consider asking questions about aspects of this place without looking for or knowing the answer. When was the last time you asked a curious question about something you thought you already knew the answer to? Maybe you ask: “Tree, how long have you been here?”, “Why is this flower pink and not yellow, or blue?”, “Do beetles have ears? What senses do beetles perceive the world with?” Watch how each question can lead to a new question. Watch as the process unfolds.

4. Consider that the natural world is as interested in you as you are in them. What questions might the natural world ask you? What parts of you might they be curious about?

5. Watch what accessing a child-like sense of wonder about a place does to your relationship to the place. Is it the same as before you started this practice? Does it bring up any memories of childhood for you? What does this practice do to your relationship with climate-oriented work?

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How do you feel about time? In modern-day culture time is a commodity. We never have enough of it, we always want more of it, we desperately seek ways to save it. Time is a linear ‘thing’ that is always being ‘lost’, and consequently everything becomes imbued with a kind of urgency.  Philosopher, writer, activist and professor of psychology, Bayo Akomolafe says “The times are urgent, let us slow down”.

The idea of slowing down in the face of crisis might seem counter intuitive. However, we invite you to consider the impact of rushed thinking or action to address climate collapse. We need a different relationship with time to ponder the kind of world we want to participate in and create. Environmental activist, author, deep ecology and Buddhist scholar, Joanna Macy writes that “until we break out of this temporal trap, we will not be able to fully or adequately address the crises we have created for ourselves and the generations to come.”

Deep time is a concept that we can explore and practice to discover a new relationship with time. Deep time refers to the immense span of time that goes beyond a human life, beyond remembered human history and human civilisation. It invites us to consider all the time that has spanned before our current point and all the time that will be after our lives have passed. To connect with the vastness of all the unknown causes and conditions that have led to this moment in time, and all that stem beyond us into the unknown futures. It is an offering to become comfortable with our tiny human position in the vastness of time unfolding, and time as something which is inhabited by other living beings – animals, plants, trees, insects, rivers – all with distinct relationships with time that challenge our human-centric lens.

Invitation to Practice – Meditation on the Elements

This month’s invitation to practice is a 15-minute guided meditation that invites you to experience deep time by journeying into the elements through our own bodies. It’s an offering to explore how parts of the earth that existed long before us have been central to the development of our species and invites us to see the world with new eyes. Eyes that see through deep time and can experience gratitude for our place amongst the earth’s history.

You can listen to the meditation here.

Following the meditation or the reading above, you might feel called to reflect on the following questions.

1. How does recognising the expanse of time and the place of humans in that history of time change my relationship to the current climate?
2. What becomes possible to imagine for the future of the world when I step out of a narrow experience of time?
3. What quality of being do I feel called to invite into my life after contacting deep time? Humility? Appreciation? Connection?
   
   By Bianca Crapis and Beth Hill

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This summer is different to what many of us expected. We were told to brace for a hot, dry summer, and while bushfires and heatwaves have featured, we have also seen flooding, heavy rain, storms, and cyclones across much of Australia. Being faced with the realities of the climate crisis is often distressing, and unpredictable weather events can bring up unpredictable feelings.

Climate emotions—such as dread, numbness, fear, overwhelm, yearning, or even hope, determination, and awe—can be disorienting, particularly when, like extreme weather, they change rapidly. One minute you may feel despair for the state of the natural world, and the next be awe-struck by its resilience. You might feel frightened about the future for most of the day, then suddenly feel numb. You also might feel multiple emotions at once, or not be able to identity what you’re feeling. Even though these changing and overlapping emotions can be confusing, these shifts are normal and healthy.

There is no one way to feel about the climate crisis. No emotion is good or bad, and every emotion has a purpose. Feelings give us information about our experience of the world, so that we can make decisions and take action. The aim is not to suppress or restrict our emotions, but to make room to feel them. The more we are able to notice and stay with what we are feeling—knowing they will inevitably change—the more we can use the information to take action in ways that are supportive to us and our community.

Emotional agility in a climate crisis

Emotional agility—a term coined by psychologist Susan David—is the ability to be flexible with our emotions and how we relate to them. By noticing our feelings, we have access to all the information available to us, helping us make decisions that align with our values. Emotional agility is not about forcing our emotions to change so that we instantly feel better, or avoiding uncomfortable feelings. It’s about valuing each emotion as worthy of being heard. By becoming aware of what we are feeling and putting words to our experience, we can respond with flexibility and perspective as situations change. “How we deal with our inner world drives everything,” says David. “The conventional view of emotions as good or bad, positive or negative, is rigid. And rigidity in the face of complexity is toxic.”

The climate crisis is about as complex as it gets, and we need access to all of our emotions to respond to it in healthy ways. Being flexible with how we relate to our feelings can help drive decision-making that supports ourselves and our communities. Emotional agility helps us to feel less stuck.

What does emotional agility look like?

The first step is to connect with yourself and try and name what you are feeling. It can help to notice any sensations arising in your body, to journal about it, or chat with a friend or therapist. There is also an exercise at the bottom of this page to help get you started.

You might notice disappointment, for example, and this might lead you to cry —which could then bring sadness (a new emotion). Or, the disappointment could prompt you to write to your local MP, which might then make way for anger or determination. If you notice sadness or shame, you might reach out to a friend or go to a Climate Café for some human connection (which could lead to a sense of belonging).

Emotional agility is about following each link in the chain of emotion-response-emotion that guides our lives; the more we are aware of our emotions, the more mindful we can be about our decision-making. But it’s also important to note that emotions don’t always need us to take action: simply noticing them might be enough. All emotions belong, and we need acknowledge them all to live meaningful lives amidst a climate crisis.

Practicing emotional agility: use LOVE

When we notice that we’re feeling something, but we’re not sure what to do, we can follow the acronym LOVE to respond to our experience. LOVE stands for Listen. Observe. Validate. Express. This practice can be done anywhere and only takes a few minutes, but it might be helpful to find somewhere quiet or private if that is supportive for you.

The first step is Listen. Listen to what’s showing up as you notice your emotion(s). Listening might mean noticing physical signs of emotion in your body— heart rate, body temperature, tension—or it might mean listening to the kinds of thoughts that are crossing your mind. There might be a lot going on inside you, or nothing much. You don’t have to change or stop these thoughts or sensations; just listen and acknowledge them.

Observe is the next step. This means spending some time with your emotions, even just a few seconds. Observing what’s happening inside you will help bring some space between you and the emotion. The aim isn’t to get rid of what you’re feeling; the aim is to notice that there are two parts to the experience: 1) the emotion, which is bringing an experience; and 2) the ‘me,’ a human being who is witnessing and being with those feelings.

The next step is Validate. Remind yourself that whatever you’re experiencing is valid, no matter what it is or how it’s showing up. Given the context of the climate crisis, your emotions make sense and are proportional to what we are going through. Validating your emotions is about saying to yourself, ‘Hey, it’s okay. It makes sense that you are thinking and feeling this way right now. This emotion belongs.’ This leads us to the final step:

Express. This is where you make a choice about how you would like to follow this emotion to a response of some kind. It can be helpful to ask: ‘What’s really important to me right now? What is this emotion trying to tell me? How is it asking me to respond to it?’ Our responses are as varied as our emotions, and your own response to each emotion will be different each time. You might decide that simply noticing the emotion is enough for now; you might want to take some sort of action on climate change, or it may be that you already do that daily and in this moment you need space and time to settle, reground, and anchor. Here are some more ideas:

• Express yourself creatively through drawing, writing, singing, dancing, moving your body.
• Go for a walk or a sit in nature; really take some time to notice the colours, textures, movements, smells. If you can’t go outside, observing a plant on your desk or in your home can be helpful.
• Chat with a friend about what you’re feeling.
• Come to one of our upcoming online Climate Cafés, where all people and emotions are welcome.
• Sign up to our newsletter to be the first to access our new online offering—the Climate Feelings Space,

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Advocating for young people’s mental health in an ongoing climate crisis.

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A tightening in the chest. A drop in the stomach. Quickening breath. Feelings of dread, anxiety, fear, or hopelessness when you think about the future of the planet and what it will mean for humanity. These are signs of climate distress—an experience that affects many of us, but is particularly acute in young people.

While communities and families can help support young people in their climate distress, it is the government that has the most power and responsibility in responding to the climate crisis. PSC was recently invited to speak at a Senate hearing on independent Senator David Pocock’s ‘Duty of Care’ bill, where our submission highlighted the emotional impact on young people of the government’s climate inaction.

‘At PSC, we’re at the cutting edge of seeing what climate distress really is,’ says PSC’s Honorary Senior Advisor Dr. Charles Le Feuvre, who represented PSC at the hearing. ‘We really see a lot of people—a lot of young people—who are greatly distressed about the climate one way or another. Goodness knows how distressed they are going to be in the future, how future generations are going to feel.’

As the government continues to approve fossil fuel projects, young people currently stand to inherit an unlivable planet. A recent study by Lancet Planetary Health surveyed young people around the world and found the following:

• 50% of Australian young people believe ‘humanity is doomed’ due to climate change.

• Around 60% of young people report feeling fear, anxiety, sadness, anger, and/or powerlessness.

• 76% of young Australians say ‘the future is frightening’ because of climate change.

There is also a correlation between government inaction and climate distress in young people, with 58% saying that governments are betraying them.

‘Young people… are feeling very uncared for [by the government]’, Charles told the Senate committee. ‘That’s very traumatic. They can be very anxious and feel helpless and alone.’ PSC’s submission argued that the government’s duty of care extends not only to cutting emissions, but to acknowledging and safeguarding the emotional wellbeing of young people into the future. ‘Really showing due care to children and young people will have a very considerable impact on their mental health,’ says Charles

There is no doubt that climate change is both causing and exacerbating mental health problems through extreme weather events, and through slower changes such as drought and temperature increases. Climate distress will only increase as the climate crisis deepens creating more stresses on the communities and systems we live in, including water and food supply, uneven distribution of wealth, migration and conflict.

While communities and families can help support young people in their climate distress, it is the government that has the most power and responsibility in responding to the climate crisis. ‘It’s a climate emergency, and even though the current government has done a lot more than the previous government, it’s still not doing enough,’ Charles explains. ‘The government needs to do everything they can to reduce emissions, and also to show more understanding of how young people feel about the climate situation.’

While the bill is unlikely to pass, it is still doing important work: it has put the health and mental health of children and young people into the climate equation. ‘I think this can build some momentum,’ says Charles. ‘So many people are passionate about these issues.’

Climate distress is very real, and only growing. While young people are feeling particularly distressed about the climate, climate emotions affect all of us. It’s important to remember that experiencing climate distress does not mean there is anything ‘wrong’ with you; it’s actually a healthy, proportionate response to an upsetting situation. At times, particularly if not adequately cared for, climate distress can also tip over into clinical anxiety or depression which may need professional help by a Climate Aware Practitioner, GP or other mental health professional. We also have plenty of resources, events, and support available to support you and young people in your life to navigate your climate emotions. Head over to our Climate Feelings Space for more.

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If you’re interested to learn more about the Duty of Care bill and young people’s fight to hold the government accountable, you might like to watch this episode of Australian Story profiling young climate activist Anjali Sharma.

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I was born into my human animal body, jaundiced and underweight and inextricably connected to myriad beings already here, living on Earth. I like to imagine that tiny person knew, on a cellular level, that she belonged to an astoundingly sophisticated ecosystem that would lovingly provide her with the perfect conditions for her to grow into existence. I like to imagine that all of us knew, at our arrival, that we are nature, and that all we have to do is remember.

As a child, growing up in inner-city Brisbane, I learned of the ’74 floods through my parents’ stories, as they recalled the shock and disruption that entered their lives and the landscape. My mother was pregnant with me at the time and was an operator on the city council’s switchboard. For weeks she worked well into the night, manually connecting the influx of calls from people who were confused and scared.

My first direct experience of ecological distress came in January 2011, as I lifted my belongings to the top floor of my home in West End, Meanjin, and fled from the rising river. I remember the weight of uncertainty and despair for what was happening and what would be lost. I worried about the old figs and critters whose home was the riverbank.

Later in 2011, I tree-changed over the border to Bundjalung Country where I now tend a dozen acres of wet sclerophyll forest. Rising tall at the centre of the Tweed Caldera is Wollumbin: the sacred mountain whose steadying presence is palpable to me. I feel my belonging to this rivered region, and successive disasters—the 2017 floods, the Black Summer fires of 2019, more flooding in 2022—have shaken us up and brought us together as a community. Looking away from the realities of climate change is impossible.

"Looking away from the realities of climate change is impossible."

After the fires missed my forested village, my guilt-ridden relief and a desire to do something, pulled me towards Psychology for a Safe Climate. PSC founder, Carol Ride, introduced me to Sally Gillespie, who has since become a mentor and friend. The sense of connection that PSC fosters is essential for climate work, and meeting members IRL at a recent training (Hello, Lody and Aurora!) was wonderful.

At freshly 50, knowing this body has lived more years than it has left, I cherish the earthly things I know I’ll miss: walking and living outside for days at a time; marvelling at a sparkling sky as I drift off to sleep in a flyless tent; sharing a divine meal with good friends; dancing to my favourite tunes; making love; floating in a warm ocean. These sensory joys are antidotal.

Ecological affect can include grief, anger and fear, as well as delight, solace and care. Swimming in these seas—reading, listening, protesting, engaging in groups, finding held spaces—leads me to a bigger picture. I’m becoming more aware of social inequality, climate injustice and my positionality; the problem of human exceptionalism; the impact of hyper individualism; and the harm of ongoing colonisation. When I hear others talk about this time as an invitation to repair relationships and heal wounds, my heart glows. I want it to be so.

" I recognise that our changing climate is changing me—the dance of learning and unlearning, hearing a call and responding, holding spaciously when I’m clinging—its rhythm expands me."

I recognise that our changing climate is changing me—the dance of learning and unlearning, hearing a call and responding, holding spaciously when I’m clinging—its rhythm expands me. I honour the Ancestral beings, like the rivers and creeks and mountains where I live, whose love is forgiving and limitless. I am grateful for the generous sharing of First Nations Peoples whose lifeways have never forgotten our interconnectedness. It helps me feel that radical change is possible.

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Catherine Falco (she/her) lives on the unceded lands of the of the Moorung-Moobah on Bundjalung Country. She is a psychologist, systemic family therapist and PhD candidate with The University of Sydney’s Ecological Emotions Research Lab and the University Centre for Rural Health in Lismore.

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This is an edited version of a letter written by Charles Le Feuvre and Carol Ride to the Quarterly Essay, in response to Joelle Gergis’ current essay titled “Highway to Hell.”

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In the current Quarterly Essay, award winning climate scientist and writer, Joëlle Gergis, provides an excellent account of the climate reality and the current political response in Australia. In this article, as in her recent book “Humanity’s Moment”, she shows passionate and emotional involvement with the issues. As a psychiatrist and psychotherapist actively involved in climate psychology over the last 15 years, I will explore the political reality from a psychological perspective.

“How do they sleep at night?” This question – aimed squarely at the government – was articulated by a politician Gergis spoke to – and it’s this question that stuck with me. It’s an excellent question, deserving some thought. One way to approach it is through the psychological lens of denial and other psychological defence mechanisms.

Firstly, to put the question in context, there is an assumption in some circles that the era of climate change denial is over. Unfortunately, climate denial is very much still with us. Furthermore, many people seem to accept that the climate is warming, but remain in denial about the urgency of the unfolding crisis.

Psychoanalytic thinking about denial goes back to Freud. In his view, denial can be seen as an unconscious way of protecting oneself from anxiety – either by complete denial (blindness) or by disavowal (turning a blind eye, that is, knowing and not knowing at the same time). Completely denying the reality of anthropogenic climate change will probably not affect your sleep, but turning a blind eye is more likely to.

Denial can be seen as an unconscious way of protecting oneself from anxiety.

Another view of denial came from the sociologist Stanley Cohen, who looked at three types of denial: literal, interpretive and implicatory. These can be conscious or unconscious or both. All three terms were originally used by him in relation to human atrocities, though can equally be applied to the consequences of our failure to respond to the scale of the climate crisis.

Literal denial is denial of anthropogenic climate change per se. Interpretive denial is not accepting the scientific interpretation such as the severity and urgency of the climate crisis. Implicatory denial is not accepting the moral, political and psychological implications.

It should also be highlighted that any denial may be influenced by denialism, which is the conscious and active attempt to distort and undermine climate science, as seen in decades of campaigns by fossil fuel companies.

Dogged insistence on promoting nuclear power is an example of interpretive denial, as it avoids highlighting the need for urgent action. It could also represent denialism.

In its plans for a rapid move to renewable energy, the Australian government seems to accept climate science and the political implications of the need for immediate action At the same time, for political reasons, the government continues to allow new fossil fuel projects, subsidises fossil fuel companies, exports a vast amount of fossil fuels and supports unviable carbon storage and dubious carbon offsets. In doing so the government is turning a blind eye to the implications of the worsening crisis and rationalising their position in economic and political terms. Surely economics should be about looking after our home, not destroying it.

Implicatory denial is not accepting the moral, political and psychological implications.

The moral implications relate to climate justice – including our duty of care for young people and future generations. The Climate Change Amendment (Duty of Care and Intergenerational Climate Equity) Bill 2023 aimed to ensure assessment of the impact of any new fossil fuel projects on children’s health and wellbeing. It was not supported by a Senate inquiry.he truth is that every new fossil fuel project has a deleterious effect on children’s health and wellbeing. Again, such moral considerations can be rationalised and ignored by turning a blind eye. Protecting the economy is of little value if our planet becomes unliveable for young people and future generations.

As Joëlle Gergis says, “The destruction [of the natural world] we are witnessing is the culmination of corporate disregard for the very essence of what makes us human, and government refusal to properly regulate polluting industries. It’s a moral failure of colossal proportions”

The psychological implications of the climate crisis include climate distress which covers such feelings as fear, grief, powerlessness, shame, anger, and anxiety. This distress can definitely affect sleep. As readers of this newsletter know, Psychology for a Safe Climate has extensive experience in responding to the emotional implications of the climate crisis with people across Australia, including conversations with politicians.

Young people particularly are well aware of the desperate situation facing humanity. They understand the implications and want the government to act on them urgently.

In their despair and powerlessness, they have spoken of feeling betrayed by the government.

When confronted with difficult situations, many people cut off (repress or dissociate) their feelings because they cannot bear them. Faced with relentless news about the climate crisis, this response can arise partly because of despair at the lack of political action commensurate with the climate crisis. On the other hand, some may be in denial about the implications of climate change because it threatens comfortable lifestyles.

Many people cut off (repress or dissociate) their feelings because they cannot bear them.

The current global economic model has created what Sally Weintrobe calls ‘the culture of uncare’, driven by our society’s excessive consumption patterns, hyper individualism, and common belief in our exceptionalism. On this basis, the Australian government and many individuals collude in denying the implications of the climate crisis.

The climate emergency is not something to be faced alone. Climate Cafes and workshops can help people face and share their feelings in a safe space with others. That helps them to build openness, hope, emotional resilience, and support for climate action. Communities also need emotional support, to accept the implications of the climate crisis, and focus on what they can do, together, to strengthen local resilience.

In discussion with politicians, some have said they believe honest conversations with their colleagues about how they feel about the climate situation would be helpful.

As Joëlle Gergis highlights in Humanity’s Moment, our emotional responses are critical to the change we need. “When we are finally willing to accept feelings of intense loss-for ourselves, the planet, and every child’s future- we can use the intensity of our emotional response to finally propel us into action. We must have the heart and the courage to be moved by what we see”.

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Dr Charles Le Feuvre is a psychiatrist and psychotherapist in private practice in Melbourne. He has been a Consultant Psychiatrist at The Royal Melbourne Hospital and Chair of The Section of Psychotherapy of the Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists. He joined PSC over ten years ago, is currently on the PSC Board, and has facilitated PSC workshops and written and spoken about the climate and ecological crisis for PSC.  

Carol Ride is a psychologist, as a therapist, supervisor and trainer. Her shift to work in the field of climate change was motivated by the urgent need to contribute to engaging and supporting people psychologically in responding to the unfolding climate crisis.  Carol is the Founder of Psychology for a Safe Climate, and held the role of President, then Director, until late 2023. She regularly facilitates workshops for PSC and speaks publicly on climate psychology.

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On World Mental Health Day 2024, the focus is on mental health in the workplace.

At Psychology for a Safe Climate we understand how climate change impacts our holistic health – including our emotional, social, and mental health –  at work just as much as at home!

One of PSC’s ongoing, core offerings to support mental health is our Climate Cafe program.

Climate Cafés are in-person or online gatherings, where participants openly discuss their thoughts, feelings, worries, fears, or hopes about the climate crisis, in a non-judgemental, advice-free space where the focus is on deep listening.

As our Climate and Mental Health Manager, Christie Wilson, says:

“Climate Cafés are a kind process; they offer space for exploring non-hierarchical systems of communication and practice of deep listening to others and the quiet voice within ourselves, nested in place and in honour of Dr Miriam Rose’s work of Dadirri.”

– Christie Wilson

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