In a small room in Lower Manhattan, eight New Yorkers sat in a circle, sharing their kombucha and climate fears against a backdrop of pouring rain and wailing sirens.
A psychotherapist leading a conference for other therapists in Champaign, Illinois, held a sprig of goldenrod and asked six online participants to think about their relationship with nature.
And in Kansas City, Missouri, a nonprofit that runs weekly discussions on Zoom began sessions with spiritual readings and guided meditations before breaking into groups to discuss topics such as childbirth ethics amid concerns about a rapidly growing world population and fertility. Lack of resources.
All were examples of a new grassroots movement called Climate Cafes. These in-person and online groups are a place for people to discuss sadness, fear, anxiety and other emotions about the climate crisis.
They are springing up in cities across the United States and around the world, including Los Angeles, Seattle, and Boston. It's unclear how many cafes there are, but Rebecca Nestor of the Climate Psychology Alliance, a nonprofit that trains facilitators, said the number has grown significantly over the past three years. The group has trained about 350 people to run climate cafés in the U.S., Canada and Europe, and its North American branch lists 300 clinicians in its Climate Aware Therapist Directory.
The alliance examines how ecosystems, including extreme weather and disasters, affect mental health. Polluted air and water, and how they intersect with other forces such as racism and income inequality. Psychologists say such groups help people confront the disturbing reality of the climate crisis.
Mr. Nestor opened the first Climate Café in Oxford, England in 2018. She said the idea was modeled after death cafes, a concept created by a Swiss sociologist. The concept is where people come together to talk openly about death in order to better understand their lives. .
Many climate cafes are free and open to the public, but some are convened specifically for librarians, therapists, and other professionals.
'I can no longer accept the narrative that I have no choice in how this ends.'
Olivia Ferraro, a 24-year-old who works in finance, has hosted more than 20 intimate climate cafes in New York City since June 2023, with attendees ranging from five to 20 people. She has also trained online people across the United States and around the world (Puerto Rico, Vancouver, England, Australia) who would like to conduct such gatherings in their own communities.
On a recent rainy and unseasonably warm January evening (temperature 51 degrees, high 56 degrees), Mr. Ferraro prepared for the meeting. She lit the Brooklyn Candle Company Fern + Moss candle she lights during each of her meetings and turned on the soothing melody of Khruangbin.
She arranged 10 chairs in a circle near a brick wall, set out grapes, sparkling water, plantain chips and other snacks on the table, and brought reusable cups from her mother's 2016 wedding.
Slowly, people gathered from all over the city. The crowd was a mix of young people and a few older people. Each of us attended a climate cafe for the first time.
After a brief conversation, Mr. Ferraro shared the rules for the evening. She explained that it is not intended to replace clinical care.
Attendees spent an hour speaking more broadly about their concerns for their future children and future generations. They described feeling overwhelmed not only by climate change but also by the political climate. They described oscillating between feeling despair and feeling empowered about the future of the planet.
Occasionally there would be long silences as participants looked at each other or at their knees as they took in what was being said.
“I can no longer accept the narrative that I have no choice in how this ends and that major corporations have complete control over my future,” said Sheila McMenamin, 32, of Brooklyn.
“They don’t have complete control. I refuse to give it away,” she said, and other participants agreed.
One Black woman cried, saying it was difficult to know that people of color would be disproportionately affected by climate change, but many people don't have time to engage with these groups.
“I’m angry that there aren’t more black and brown people in this room,” said Syrah Scott, a mother in her 40s who lives in Queens. She said many people of color are just focused on survival. “They don’t have the money to worry about this,” she said.
'I struggle to enjoy the outdoors.'
The online climate cafe for healers in Illinois began when Kate Mauer rubbed dry stems she plucked from her backyard with her hands. She said the object connected her to the climate crisis. Because it was one of many flowers native to Illinois that she planted in an effort to restore her natural environment.
But being in her garden began to bring up mixed emotions, she said. Her nature had always given her her comfort, but now it made her sad.
“Constant thoughts about environmental destruction make it difficult to enjoy the outdoors,” she said.
That paradox reminded cafe participant Lauren Bondi of the fresh snow and black rhino that morning. Ms Bondy and her son, then 19, spotted one of the last critically endangered species while on holiday in Tanzania a few years ago.
Ms., a therapist on the Chicago North Shore. “You appreciate the beauty of it, but you also recognize the sense of scarcity and loss,” Bondy said. She said, “We have it all.”
Climate cafe hosts said this was not psychotherapy but group catharsis.
Colleen Aziz, a therapist who runs virtual practices across Illinois, said she felt a responsibility to seek professional training, but that few patients brought up climate issues in their sessions.
“It's really great to have customers who are ready and stable enough to see the climate for themselves, but that's usually a privilege,” Aziz said after the cafe.
'It's a battle between generations.'
Other groups focus more on behavior.
Around the same time, Mr. Ferraro's group emerged, and Jonathan Kirsch, a 32-year-old lawyer and living in Brooklyn, founded Climate Café in November 2022. His group started out as a private, informal meeting in his apartment, but is now open to anyone. Publics and groups focus more on turning emotions into action.
On another recent rainy day in January, more than 30 people were packed into Mr. Kirsch's home. Apartment in Brooklyn for Climate Cafe. The doorbell rang almost non-stop as people struggled up the stairs to their apartments, shed wet coats, and piled up umbrellas.
Many of those attending the meeting worked in the climate field, including one person who worked with Extinction Rebellion, the group that disrupted the U.S. Open and the Met Opera to shed more light on the climate crisis.
Attendees were divided into small groups. Although they were frustrated by local, state, and national policies, they felt hopeful. They were flooded with ideas for ways to channel their energy: composting, gardening, breeding, clothing swap and repair clubs, pushing for specific legislation, joining book clubs and writing groups, and going back to school to further their education.
After the small discussion group reconvened, one participant said to the larger group: “In fact, this is a very long fight, it is a generational fight,” he said. “We must come with a resilient mindset, prepared to lose many battles and knowing that in the greatest struggles our presence will be worth it.”
Do climate cafes work?
Gathering together to share climate issues is not new. Environmental activists have been organizing meetings since the 1970s to discuss how to respond to climate threats. Native American communities have long come together to mourn the loss of their land, according to Sherrie Bedonie, a social worker and co-founder of the Native American Counseling and Healing Collective.
Participants said coming together to talk openly about their fears provided a kind of lightness.
Sami Aron, 71, a retired software developer, founded Resilient Activist in Kansas City after the suicide of his son, a climate activist and urban studies graduate student at the University of California, Berkeley, citing despair over climate change.
Her group's cafes try to instill hope, she said.
“The fear and despair are disappearing from all of us,” Mr Bondy said. So we don't talk about that. Because it’s so painful,” Mr. Bondy said. “If we can’t heal what we all feel, we can’t heal the planet,” she added.
If you are thinking about suicide, contact the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline by calling or texting 988 or go to: SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources For a list of additional resources