Building the Plane as We Fly It: A Psychologist Responds to the Maui Wildfires

Having eagerly awaited the Addiction Psychology specialty approval, I was thrilled when the timing aligned for me to apply at the tail end of my ECP decade. Equal parts terrified and confident (CI 10% – 90% depending on the day), I forged ahead with my submission and scheduled an oral examination in July 2023. I spent the spring reliving my grad student days of weekend all-nighters (fueled by Twizzlers and Goldfish) to prepare while juggling my full-time clinical practice, state psychological association service, and single parenting / zookeeping (two tweenage humans, three rescued canines, a foster baby canine, and one grumpy feline). I mistakenly assumed that would be the busiest and most stressful part of this year. Little did I know how much my personal and professional world would change just a few weeks later.

In August 2023, the Hawaiian Island of Maui experienced the deadliest U.S. wildfire in over a century, devastating the entire Lahaina community. The psychological trauma experienced by Lahaina and Maui residents was overwhelming. In the wake of this disaster, the Hawai‘i Governor’s Office reached out to the Hawai‘i Psychological Association (HPA) for assistance. As the current Past-President of HPA (and someone who has an unhealthy attachment to and adoration of spreadsheets and Google forms), I immediately took responsibility for organizing the HPA response. Amid chaos, we implemented a coordinated plan that involved local, national, and international behavioral health community resources. 

We established the Maui Strong Mental Health Response (MSMHR), coordinating hundreds of volunteers worldwide who provided virtual support to helpers and first responders on the ground. This online drop-in support program was staffed with volunteers (nearly) 24/7, many responding from APA listservs such as Division 50 (Society of Addiction Psychology – SoAP). In those first six weeks, 813 individuals from 14 countries signed up for over 2,000 shifts and collectively donated over 2,000 hours – a full clinical internship – staffing a zoom room to support this community. 

Simultaneously we developed, from scratch, a referral list of 175 licensed providers willing to treat survivors regardless of insurance. We provided daily updates to over 1000 providers and key community leaders. We orchestrated critically-needed skills-training, including one virtual program on Psychological First Aid which had over 1400 attendees. We insisted that these trainings be culturally-informed and collaborated with the Native Hawaiian Practitioner Hui to ensure support for traditional practices. I longed to go back to the days of stressing over how to condense my professional statement and refreshing myself on the ethics guidelines in preparation for my first oral exam.

I use the plural ‘we’ as, of course, none of these efforts were mine alone, but in those early weeks, I was at the zoom table for every meeting, every call, every subgroup of volunteers (the vast majority of whom I had just met). What started as trying to find a way to help from afar became a full-time plus overtime volunteer effort. We received no compensation whatsoever for our time. We willingly took on these responsibilities despite the financial impact on our practices, self-care, and family lives. We simply wanted to help our community when they needed it the most.

Over those next few weeks, our meetings and efforts became more routine and volunteers stepped into new administrative roles. By October 2023, I finally had some breathing space to return to routines like tucking in my kiddos and walking the pups and not eating take out every night. I could have used that time for recreation, relaxation, or reconnection… but as co-chair of the 2023 Hawai‘i Behavioral Health and Wellness Convention happening later that month, there was no time for rest. So here I am, months later, reveling in the opportunity to reflect and write about a year that offered two unforeseen accomplishments (and associated exhaustions), including progressing through all stages of ABPP candidacy, and serving in a leadership role for a multidisciplinary disaster response endeavor.  

The processes of candidacy preparation and disaster response coordination informed one another, with one process yielding lessons or clarifying competencies that could be applied to the other process. Here are a few of those parallels:

1. The more prepared you are, the less prepared you feel. Similar to my ABPP process, the more research and reflection I did regarding the disaster response, the more Imposter Phenomenon I experienced.
2. When you’re uncertain, make sure you’re not alone. I began my ABPP application with a new provisional board, and thus didn’t have the benefit of personal mentorship or guidance. This allowed (or rather, forced) me to reach out to two groups of colleagues: ABPP specialists from other specialties, and potential applicants working through the same process I was.
3. Who you know matters (expert edition). My connections with ABPP specialists gave me unique feedback and support for pursuing my candidacy, and later opened additional pathways to recruiting and updating volunteers during the disaster response.
4. Who you know matters (peer edition). My posts on the HPA and Div 50 listservs helped me identify other contemplative and preparation-staged applicants, which offered bidirectional support and accountability. The humility and vulnerability of not knowing exactly what you’re doing while mindfully and importantly doing it anyway laid the groundwork for the constantly iterative process of organizing the disaster response. I also learned that a typo still only counts as one error even if thousands of people see it.
5. Who you know matters (ABPP edition). Part of my reason for pursuing this certification was noticing how many ABPP specialists comprised the HPA Board, the Div 50 Board, and other service- and mentorship-focused individuals. That meant a relieving level of pre-screening for ABPP specialists who reached out during the disaster. (Spoiler Alert: It wasn’t ABPP specialists that were offering/threatening to show up, uninvited, in the affected areas. They weren’t the trainers with financial interests offering meaningless certifications “discounted” to only thousands of dollars. They certainly weren’t the narcissistic-traited “volunteers” on the Continent scolding me for not creating an opportunity just for them to help on their terms). Availability heuristic? Maybe. Spurious correlation? Maybe. Reassuring and comforting when I needed it most? Absolutely.

I’ve learned so many other lessons through this process, but along with each lesson has come allyship and opportunity to improve responses and collaborations in the future. I witnessed well-intentioned federal guidelines completely undermine the cultural practices of Maui residents. I observed psychological theories of trauma responses and treatment in conflict with strength- and resiliency-based worldviews. I acknowledged the institutional challenges of offering APA-approved CEs for traditional practitioners in spite of the importance of cultural familiarity required for our work. I learned that “evidence-based” can be interpreted very loosely when proposing behavioral health trainings and services (with an inverse correlation between cost and empirical support). 

I find myself now advocating for change and improvement in these areas, alongside these new best friends and incredible colleagues, as I (hopefully) am able to downshift to “only” one full-time job plus some weekly service hours. It has not been easy to reconcile the labor-intensive experiences of board certification and disaster response coordination (along with working full time, raising a family, and all of the other tasks associated with adulting) with the competency of self-reflection/self-care that specialists are supposed to aspire to and demonstrate. 

Upon reflection, I could say that I have learned lessons about setting boundaries, limiting commitments, prioritizing myself, and not overworking. I can cite the research on self-care and avoiding burnout. I can encourage (demand?) that others take care of themselves. But would I do anything different? 

Assuming I continue to be privileged with decent health and adequate resources, I would be right back to sleepless nights and take-out meals while I pull from the reserves to help where it is most needed. I would work sooner to dismantle the inappropriate guilt of not sacrificing even more. I would also ensure my efforts were time-limited. I would lean into those around me – my professional colleagues and personal friends – to help support me. And I would return to routine as soon as possible… until the next time.

I credit my ABAP (provisional ABPP) specialization with some of the courage and credibility I needed to pursue these new areas of service and advocacy. And while I am grateful for these opportunities, I yearn for an utterly boring 2024.

The latest summary of Maui Strong Mental Health Response services, excerpted from the Hawaiʻi Psychological Association’s December 2023 Newsletter, can be accessed here.

The Maui Wildfires precipitated the need for us to demonstrate, personally, professionally, and organizationally, our commitment to the people and providers of Hawai’i. We hope you’ll join us. Mahalo (thank you) for your time and kōkua (help/assistance). Reach out to us at mauikokua@gmail.com.