Lessons, Loss, and Life After Wildfire Disaster: A Survivor’s Perspective Years Later

In October 2017, I was living in Sonoma County, California, an area not typically associated with destructive wildfires. The hillsides were covered in grapevines, oak trees, and tall golden grass that swayed in the wind. It was a paradise—until that October night when everything changed. The wind was howling at 65 mph, the beginning of our collective nightmare. The Tubbs Fire started outside Calistoga, then curled around the hillsides and poured into Santa Rosa. As embers rained down around us, my former husband and I evacuated—just ten minutes before our home was consumed by the flames. Entire neighborhoods were reduced to ash that night; our community lost 5,000 structures and 25 lives.

In the aftermath of a wildfire, it feels as though the rug of life has been pulled out from under you. You are cast adrift, unsure of how to step back into a life that no longer exists. With businesses closed and the fire still raging, those of us who had evacuated found ourselves without basic resources. We had no way to buy clothing or even knowing if our homes had survived, and worst of all, we could not even get a coffee from Starbucks! Most evacuees were confined to churches or community centers, waiting for any news. While local charities quickly stepped in to help, government response was much slower.

The housing situation quickly became a full-blown crisis. With entire neighborhoods wiped out, rental units became nearly impossible to find. The few available were snatched up within days, and those that came later to the market were listed at prices three times what people had been paying before the fire. For many, it was not just about finding a place to live; it felt like another blow, a harsh reminder of how much our lives had been upended. As the months dragged on, the stress of securing housing—at any price—was a constant weight. Eventually, FEMA provided trailers, and housing did seem to stabilize for most evacuees.

The emotional toll of losing your home is overwhelming. Grief over the things you lost, anger at the government’s decisions, and confusion about what to do next can be all-consuming. Going to work may seem pointless—why sit at a desk pushing papers when your life is in chaos? You may feel obligated to work, but every part of you is pulled in another direction. This is natural; as you navigate the aftermath of a disaster, your mind is constantly shifting between the reality of your day-to-day obligations and the emotional weight of what you have endured. You may go through the motions at work, but your thoughts are never truly there, making every task feel like an impossible mountain to climb. The dissonance between your personal turmoil and professional responsibilities can leave you feeling disconnected, as though you are living in two different worlds. And yet, you continue. Because, in the end, it is the small steps—showing up, doing what you can—that help begin the slow and painful process of rebuilding your life.

You may even find yourself questioning what really matters in life. You may realize that the important things in life are your relationships, not your possessions. You may question whether your relationships are aligned with who you truly are. I got to the place where I asked myself if I wanted to live the life I had been living before the fire. My answer was a resounding, “No.” Within 12 months of the fire, I left an unhappy marriage, I quit my job and moved across the world. For me, the Tubbs Fire served as a catalyst to rebuild my life from the ground up.

If you are one of the fortunate ones with insurance, that is both a blessing and a burden. You’ll be required to document everything you owned, and it can take months—or even up to a year—before your claims are paid. But even once the checks arrive, unexpected expenses continue. For example, my community required us to handle the cleanup of our properties ourselves, even though insurance had not yet paid out.

The burden of insurance comes with the documentation requirements. Let’s do an exercise that helps you understand the burden of documentation. Picture your kitchen. In your mind, open one of the drawers. Can you list every item in that drawer? What about the drawer next to it? Can you remember everything in that one? Now, imagine doing this for every drawer, cabinet, closet, dresser, and every box in the garage. You will be asked to create an itemized spreadsheet of everything you lost. It is an overwhelming, emotional, and time-consuming task, especially since you do not have receipts anymore. They were incinerated with everything else! You’ll have to estimate what you paid for each item and what it costs to replace it. You may find yourself searching online or wandering through stores just to “remember” what you had. Despite your best efforts, you will likely realize you have forgotten things. To this day, I still discover things I missed documenting.

One of the toughest decisions wildfire survivors face is whether to rebuild or move away. After losing your home, it is natural to feel disconnected from the area, and with housing prices on the rise, you might consider leaving. If you decide to relocate, recovery can seem a bit smoother. You will be busy shopping for every item a house needs; that can be a fun experience. Once you buy a new home, furnish it, and settle in, it can feel like the battle is behind you, and life can begin again.

If you decide to rebuild, expect it to be a long road ahead. It can take a year or two before you have a new home, and even if you rebuild your exact floor plan, it may not feel the same. Your neighborhood has changed, some houses will be rebuilt, and others will not. However, if you longed to have what you had before, this can be a viable option.

If your home survived the fire while neighbor homes burned, you will deal with survivor’s guilt. Fire is a strange force, unpredictable as to what will be spared. Please know that the majority of those who lost their homes find hope in the fact that some were spared. And, in retrospect, the owners of the houses that survived the fire had an equally daunting task ahead of them. With smoke damage, they likely will have to find other housing while everything in their home is cleaned by a recovery service; at the same time, they must hire contractors to replace drywall, carpets, and other materials that absorbed the smoke. They aren’t the lucky ones; they simply have a different path to recovery than those who lost everything.

The aftermath of a wildfire is a complex journey, fraught with both logistical and emotional challenges. Whether you are rebuilding a home, navigating insurance claims, or processing the emotional trauma, the road to recovery is long and unpredictable. However, in the face of devastation, there is strength in the small steps, the decisions to keep going, and the realization that life, no matter how hard, will continue to unfold. While the scars of such an experience may never fully fade, it is possible, as I did, to find new purpose and meaning in the aftermath.