After the Fire: Why Frustration, Anger and Kindness All Belong in Recovery
On the ground in fire-impacted communities, I keep noticing the same thing.
Long after the flames are out, when the sirens are silent, the uniforms have packed up, and the media has moved on, the emotional weight begins to surface.
Frustration.
Anger.
Exhaustion.
And a quiet, gnawing question: Why is this still so hard?
These feelings don’t mean people are ungrateful.
They don’t mean they’re failing.
They mean they’re human.
What both lived experience and organisations like Phoenix Australia consistently remind us is that disaster recovery is not linear. It doesn’t follow a neat timeline from shock to acceptance to closure. Emotions rise and fall. People can feel steady one week and completely overwhelmed the next.
That’s not going backwards.
That is recovery.
Shared events don’t mean shared experiences
One of the most damaging myths I hear after disaster is the idea that “we’ve all been through the same thing.”
We haven’t.
Two people can stand on the same road, impacted by the same fire, and carry entirely different loads. Recovery is shaped by personal circumstances, finances, family responsibilities, health, previous trauma, access to support, and the capacity someone had before the fire even started.
I’ve sat at kitchen tables and stood in paddocks with people who feel angry at systems, worn down by paperwork, or ashamed that they’re not coping “better.” Others describe feeling numb, flat, disconnected, or guilty for struggling when they believe others had it worse.
These reactions are not signs of weakness.
They are normal responses to abnormal loss.
Comparison only deepens isolation. When people feel they need to justify their pain, they stop speaking honestly and recovery slows.
The second wave is often the hardest
In the early days after disaster, adrenaline carries people.
There’s purpose.
Tasks to complete.
People to help.
Decisions that feel urgent.
Communities rally, and support is visible and active.
Then comes the second wave.
Insurance delays.
Financial pressure.
Rebuilding decisions.
Anniversaries.
Weather triggers.
And the slow, grinding uncertainty of not knowing.
This is often when frustration and anger rise not because people are failing, but because the load has become heavier and lonelier.
Phoenix Australia’s work highlights that secondary stressors, the things that come after the event, can be just as impactful as the disaster itself. And because they arrive later, they’re often misunderstood, minimised, or dismissed.
This is where kindness matters most, not just in the first few weeks, but months and even years down the track.
Kindness is not soft. It is stabilising.
Kindness doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.
It doesn’t mean rushing people to “look on the bright side.”
It means allowing space for emotions without judgement or comparison.
Kindness looks like:
Listening without trying to fix
Being patient when someone snaps or withdraws
Checking in again after the casseroles stop coming
Accepting that someone else’s pace is not yours
Recovery isn’t just about rebuilding houses, fences or sheds. It’s about restoring routines, roles, identity, connection and a sense of control.
These are the psychosocial foundations of wellbeing and they’re just as important as physical repairs.
Why capacity matters before crisis
Here’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
Disasters don’t just test resilience they expose capacity.
The people who struggle most aren’t weak. They’re often the ones who were already stretched thin before the crisis hit. Limited support. Heavy responsibilities. Chronic stress. No room left in the tank.
When disaster strikes, there’s nowhere left to draw from.
That’s why my work is increasingly focused on Capacity Before Crisis.
Building emotional literacy, connection, support networks and permission to talk before disaster strikes doesn’t prevent fires or floods but it changes how people experience them. It gives individuals, workplaces and communities more room to breathe when pressure hits.
Capacity doesn’t mean being tougher.
It means being better supported.
And support isn’t just professional services, it’s relationships, culture, leadership, and the everyday signals that say: you don’t have to carry this alone.
A gentle reminder
If you’re feeling frustrated, angry, numb or worn down you’re not broken. You’re responding to loss.
If you’re supporting someone else your patience and kindness may be doing more than you realise, even if you never see the impact.
And if we want communities to recover well, we need to stop measuring strength by how quickly people “move on” and start valuing how well we walk alongside one another.
Recovery takes time.
Kindness steadies it.
And capacity built before crisis helps carry it.
Support is available:
Lifeline 13 11 14
Beyond Blue 1300 22 4636
Local recovery services and Red Cross
You don’t have to navigate this alone.