What I Learned (or Relearned) About Myself From the LA Fires

Photo I took next to our building the morning of Jan 7. First signs of the Palisades Fire.

As someone with ADHD, and as a coach for others with ADHD, I understand the thrill of an emergency. The urgency sparks dopamine, making our brains feel “alive,” fully engaged, and ready to take action. It feels good—a brain turned on, a brain working. But I also know the crash that comes afterward, and the importance of routines and systems to navigate these highs and lows.

These past weeks, since the Palisades Fire began on Jan. 7, I have experienced my brain at both its best and its worst. When the evacuation alert came, my partner and I quickly gathered essentials—our dogs, a couple of days’ worth of clothes, and important papers—and sought refuge with friends about three miles south of us in Venice. As we arrived and the Santa Ana winds whipped the palm trees into a dangerous frenzy, we listened to a hand-cranked radio (the power had gone out) while our friends cooked an amazing dinner by candlelight on a gas stove.

No one could be expected to work under such circumstances, and so when the power finally returned 24 hours later, we shifted our focus to closely monitoring every update and development about the various LA fires.

By Friday, I thought it might be time to try getting some work done. While coaching clients still felt impossible under the circumstances, I hoped I could at least catch up on personal tasks, business projects, or even some writing. But I couldn’t muster an ounce of motivation—my brain felt mushier with each passing day. Not wanting to overstay our welcome, and with all of us eager to escape the poor air quality (we woke that morning to a landscape blanketed in toxic ash), we decided to head to Palm Springs to stay with my cousin and his husband. Meanwhile, our friends opted to rent an Airbnb in Paso Robles.

I had stayed at my cousin’s house many times before, often dog- and house-sitting, and I was confident I could get some work done there. But after we arrived on Saturday, my brain felt just as sluggish as before. I had run out of my medication, and I still only had two days’ worth of clothes with me. Once again, there were four of us in the house (plus three dogs—my two and my cousin’s), and while the house is spacious, there was still a lot of noise and shared space to navigate. I managed to meet with one or two clients, but that was the extent of my productivity. As for catching up on personal work or writing, my brain simply refused to cooperate.

As of this writing, I have been back home for three days (thankfully, our neighborhood was spared) and am still finding it hard to do much of anything. I’m writing this, and I’ve seen a few clients here and there, but I’m still waiting for my brain to reconnect.

This experience reminded me how vital routines and familiar environments are for those of us with ADHD. When the emergency passes and the dopamine fades, having systems in place can mean the difference between getting back on track and spiraling into inertia. Our brains don’t produce a steady supply of dopamine—the chemical that drives motivation and focus. In emergencies, the surge in urgency can give us a temporary boost. But afterward, we often experience a “dopamine crash” that leaves us struggling to function without reliable systems to fall back on.

For me, routines are my safety net. Being in familiar surroundings and implementing my planning is the baseline for a functioning brain. My first day back was spent cleaning up ash and going to the grocery store. The next day was for recovery. And today is a mix of recovery and routine. My brain is slowly coming back online, though it’s not quite there yet. While it’s disheartening how long this process can take, I’m navigating it with plenty of self-compassion and extending grace to myself and others. Despite my brain’s resistance, I’m sitting down to tackle my weekly planning. The brain dump alone is worth its weight in gold.

As you think about your own routines, ask yourself: What systems do you rely on to support your brain after a high-stress period? What small steps can you take today to strengthen those supports?