Chapter 3: Understanding the Mental Health Impacts of Climate Change

As touched upon the last chapter, climate change is a serious health issue. This is especially true for its impact on mental health.

We can understand the mental health effects of climate change through three overlapping pathways: direct impacts from acute events, indirect impacts from disruptions to systems and daily life, and anticipatory or existential impacts from living with the threat of a changing climate. Each pathway affects mental well-being across the life course, though children, adolescents, and young adults often face unique vulnerabilities because of their developmental stage and longer exposure to what lies ahead.

Direct Impacts from Acute Events

When an extreme weather event or climate-related disaster strikes – whether a wildfire, flood, hurricane, or heatwave – the immediate psychological toll can be profound. Surviving an acute event often means experiencing or witnessing life-threatening danger, injury, or the loss of one’s home and community. It’s common for people in the aftermath to report symptoms of acute stress or trauma. For example, children may become clingy, fearful of rain or wind, or regress in behaviors after living through a flood or storm, while adolescents and adults might experience intrusive memories, nightmares, or overwhelming anxiety about it happening again. These reactions are understandable responses to disaster. Without support, they can develop into longer-term problems like post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), depression, or chronic anxiety.

Research is showing just how significant these direct impacts can be, especially for youth. One study examined the mental health of students 18 months after a devastating wildfire in Fort McMurray, Alberta. The results revealed that 37% of surveyed youth were showing signs of PTSD – about two to three times the rate typically expected. Rates of depression were about double the norm (17% of students) and significant anxiety was widespread; in total, nearly half of the students had at least one serious psychological issue following the wildfire (1). These figures make clear that a single climate disaster can leave a large portion of a young community struggling with mental health. As one clinician described in the wake of that fire, “The whole community is suffering.” (1) Even youths who weren’t born or living in Fort McMurray at the time of the wildfire showed elevated trauma symptoms, suggesting that the ripple effects of disasters extend to new community members as well. This highlights how trauma can linger and permeate a community’s sense of safety and well-being long after the immediate crisis has passed.

From a developmental perspective, direct climate impacts can derail the normal course of growing up. A disaster can interrupt schooling, force families to relocate, or cause the loss of loved ones – all highly disruptive for children and adolescents. Younger children depend on consistent routines and the presence of safe caregivers; disasters can upend both, potentially affecting attachment and development. Teens may be old enough to grasp the gravity of what happened, but not yet equipped with adult coping skills, leaving them feeling overwhelmed or hopeless. Studies of youth after major disasters bear this out – for instance, research on children following Hurricane Katrina found persistent increases in mental health problems years later (2). In practical terms, this means providers might see a range of issues in young survivors of climate events: PTSD and anxiety disorders, depressive symptoms, behavioral changes, or psychosomatic complaints (like headaches and stomachaches) that often mask emotional distress. Recognizing these as possible sequelae of climate trauma is important for timely, sensitive support. Recovery can be a long haul, and mental health services often need to remain in place well after the news headlines fade (1). On a hopeful note, some individuals and communities also display resilience and strength in the aftermath – coming together, finding meaning in helping others, and even experiencing post-traumatic growth. But these positive outcomes don’t erase the very real pain and loss that acute events inflict. A trauma-informed approach acknowledges both sides: validating the suffering and working to bolster the natural resilience in individuals, families, and communities as they rebuild.

Indirect Impacts from Disruptions to Systems and Daily Life

Climate change also harms mental health in less obvious, but no less important, ways by gradually disrupting the environments and systems we rely on. These indirect impacts accumulate over time. They stem from the strains that a shifting climate places on livelihoods, infrastructure, and daily routines. When a way of life is destabilized – even without a single dramatic disaster – the chronic stress can translate into mental health challenges.

Consider the example of a farming family in a region increasingly plagued by drought. Crops fail or yields drop, finances become strained, and the parents grow anxious and irritable under the economic pressure. Children in the family may not fully understand the financial peril, but they certainly feel the tension. They might notice their caregivers are more stressed or emotionally unavailable, which can in turn make the children anxious or depressed. If the situation forces a move (for instance, selling the farm and relocating), children and adolescents face the added trauma of losing their home, school, and community ties. Even without moving, the erosion of a family’s livelihood can chip away at one’s sense of identity and purpose – a farmer who can no longer farm may experience grief, worthlessness, or shame. Indeed, studies in various rural communities have linked climate-related crop failures and water shortages to increases in adult depression and even suicide, a sobering indicator of how severe this indirect toll can become.

Beyond livelihoods, climate change can threaten basic needs and thus mental well-being. Food and water insecurity are prime examples. In northern Canada, for instance, Indigenous Inuit communities have described how unpredictable weather and melting ice make it harder to hunt and harvest traditional foods. This leads to greater reliance on expensive, store-bought food and often hunger or malnutrition. Overcrowded housing has worsened as well, partly due to climate-related challenges in building and maintaining homes on thawing permafrost. All these factors layer into daily life stress. One report notes that in the Arctic, changing climate conditions are exacerbating existing social problems, including food security, overcrowded housing and struggles with mental health and addiction (3). These stressors can manifest as chronic anxiety, despair, or a sense of powerlessness among residents. Importantly, the mental strain is not just about the tangible hardships like hunger or cold housing – it’s also about what these hardships signify: a feeling that the world is becoming inhospitable and unpredictable.

Children and youth feel these indirect impacts in unique ways. They are often highly attuned to the emotions of adults; when parents are anxious or grieving losses related to climate change, kids pick up on it. A child might not articulate “I’m worried about the drought,” but they may exhibit irritability, difficulty concentrating in school, or trouble sleeping due to the household’s overall stress. For adolescents, disruptions to community life can strike at a sensitive time for identity and belonging. For example, if climate change gradually renders a hometown economically unviable, teens might see friends and extended family moving away for work, eroding their social network. If traditional cultural practices (like local fishing, farming, or ceremonies tied to the seasons) become harder to carry on, youth can feel cut off from their heritage or purpose. This kind of cultural loss has been documented in Indigenous communities facing environmental change. People describe a deep sadness as they watch the land and rhythms of life they knew change beyond recognition. An Australian philosopher coined the term “solastalgia” to describe the pain of environmental loss – essentially, feeling homesick while still at home. As one researcher put it, “You don’t have to move to mourn the loss of your home: sometimes the environment changes so quickly around us that that mourning already exists.” (3) This quote captures the heart of what many experience: profound grief and nostalgia for a place as it used to be. Such feelings can occur in anyone, but for young people they might be especially confusing – how do you mourn something in the midst of everyday life? Providers might see this show up as a kind of diffuse sadness, irritability, or demotivation in patients who are otherwise physically untouched by disasters. It underscores that mental health impacts need not be triggered by a single event; slow-burning challenges can be just as detrimental.

In practice, addressing indirect impacts often means paying attention to the broader context of a person’s life. For instance, a clinician working with a youth from a fishing community might learn that the family’s income has suffered due to declining fish stocks or storm damage to boats. What may appear as a classic case of depression or anxiety could be deeply intertwined with that climate-related stressor. Effective care, in these cases, might involve not only therapy for the individual, but also connecting the family with community supports (financial assistance, peer support groups, cultural programs) – recognizing that mental health is tied to social and environmental stability. A trauma-informed, developmentally aware approach will validate the client’s feelings of loss or stress as normal reactions to abnormal circumstances, rather than solely seeing them as personal pathology.

Anticipatory and Existential Impacts

The third pathway is perhaps the most pervasive and insidious: the anticipatory and existential impacts of living in a world undergoing climate change. Even on days without any new disaster, many people carry an awareness that the climate crisis is unfolding and that greater challenges lie ahead. This awareness alone can stir up intense emotions – often referred to as eco-anxiety or climate anxiety when worry is at the forefront, and eco-grief when sadness dominates. Unlike the direct shock of a disaster or the tangible stresses of disrupted life, anticipatory impacts are more psychological and spiritual; they revolve around fear of future loss, uncertainty, and even questioning the meaning of life and one’s future in a warming world.

Young people have been especially vocal and open about these feelings. Growing up with constant news about melting ice caps, burning forests, and political inaction, it’s no surprise that today’s youth report high levels of climate-related anxiety. A large international survey found that 84% of children and young adults (16–25 years old) are at least moderately worried about climate change, and 59% are very or extremely worried (4). More than half of the young people in that study said they feel sad, anxious, angry, powerless, or helpless when they think about climate change (4). Importantly, this isn’t just idle angst – these feelings are interfering with their lives. Nearly 45% of youth reported that their feelings about climate change negatively affect their daily functioning (4). They describe difficulties sleeping, concentrating on school or work, or enjoying time with friends because climate change weighs so heavily on their minds. In another recent Canadian survey of young people (ages 13–34), over 70% reported experiencing at least mild feelings of sadness, anger, anxiety, or helplessness about climate change (5). It’s clear that climate anxiety is widespread, and for some, it crosses into a clinical realm of causing significant distress.

The content of these worries often goes beyond the immediate environment to very deep questions. Many youth fear that “the future is frightening” and feel that people have failed to take care of the planet they will inherit (4). Some express a sense of betrayal by older generations or leaders – a feeling that “you knew this was a problem and didn’t fix it, now we have to deal with the fallout.” Others grapple with whether it’s responsible to pursue milestones like having children. For example, it’s becoming more common for adolescents and young adults to report dilemmas like, “I don’t know if I want to bring a child into a world that might be ravaged by climate change.” This is a profound existential conflict, tying together hopes for family, the instinct to nurture, and a fear of doom. Even those who do want children or career plans might feel a looming uncertainty: will the world in 20 or 30 years support those dreams? Such heavy thoughts can lead to feelings of hopelessness or fatalism in some cases, especially if the person doesn’t feel they have avenues to effect change.

It’s important to note that anticipatory climate distress is not limited to young people. Many adults share these worries. In Canada, for instance, nearly half of adults surveyed (49%) said they are increasingly worried about the effects of climate change, and one in four described themselves as “really anxious” about it (6). Parents may lie awake at night worrying about what the future holds for their children. Elders might experience a mix of grief and guilt – grieving environmental losses they witness in their lifetime, and perhaps feeling guilt about the world being left to the younger generations. However, younger people often experience a distinct vulnerability here: they are in formative years where worldview and identity are taking shape, and at the same time they feel relatively powerless politically. This combination – high stakes, high awareness, and low control – is a perfect storm for anxiety. Children and teens also have vivid imaginations, which can sometimes amplify fears. A child who hears about polar bears losing their ice may worry intensely about animals dying, or imagine disasters striking their home, even if they themselves are currently safe. Without proper context and reassurance, kids might develop exaggerated fears (for example, thinking the world will end before they grow up). Thus, it’s crucial for adults to engage in honest but supportive conversations with young people about climate change, to help put their fears in perspective and empower them rather than leaving them feeling overwhelmed.

From a clinical perspective, addressing anticipatory and existential climate issues can be challenging, because the stressor is more abstract and pervasive. One cannot remove “climate change” from a patient’s life in the way one might help remove a patient from, say, an abusive household or a stressful job. The goal instead often becomes helping individuals build emotional resilience and find agency despite the threat. This could involve strategies like: validating their feelings (indeed, anxiety in the face of a real threat can be a rational response, as pointed out by mental health experts (4)), identifying constructive actions they can take (community projects, activism, or lifestyle changes, which can instill a sense of empowerment), and connecting with others (peer support groups, climate-aware therapists, or youth organizations where they learn they are not alone in their worry). For those experiencing climate grief, rituals or opportunities to mourn losses (like the disappearance of a beloved local species or the destruction of a cherished place) can be therapeutic, much as they are with other types of grief. Indigenous practices, for example, often include honoring the land and may provide comfort and meaning amid ecological loss.

It’s worth emphasizing that feelings like eco-anxiety or eco-grief are not pathological in themselves. In fact, they are normally occurring responses to the situation we collectively face (4). The aim isn’t to “rid” people of these feelings, but rather to support them in coping with the uncertainty and finding meaning and hope. Many young clients actually find hope through action – turning their anxiety into advocacy or lifestyle changes that align with their values. Others may need help simply managing the stress (through mindfulness, therapy, time in nature, creative expression, etc.) so that it doesn’t become immobilizing. Providers should be prepared to gently explore these topics even if a client initially presents with something else. For example, a teenager might come in for generalized anxiety or depression; only through careful listening might it emerge that deep down, they are despairing about climate change. Giving them space to discuss that and normalizing their feelings can be a huge relief – “You’re not crazy for feeling this way; a lot of people are worried too, and it makes sense”.