Coming Through the LA Fire with Mindful Self-Compassion
By Natalie Bell, Certified MSC Teacher
Disclaimer:
This blog post contains personal accounts, descriptions, and images related to the LA fires, which may be distressing to some readers. Discretion is advised, especially for those sensitive to content involving natural disasters, trauma, or loss. Our intent is to share authentic experiences with respect and care.
The Los Angeles fire experience has been a time of profound transformation for me and our community. It is a time that feels raw and real, vulnerable and strong, a time of intense climate threat and witnessing devastating loss while also seeing the resilience and unity of communities as we recover.
My story is one of many, shaped by deep determination, risk and luck. So many others have been less fortunate, and the struggle they face is difficult to comprehend. I share my experience with deep reverence for our land, and communities, as well as gratitude for mindful self-compassion practice to live with a fierce heart of compassion. I am profoundly grateful for the bravery and commitment of our first responders and all of the neighbors who supported them.
Being Thrown into the Heart of the Fire
Minutes after the fire started, I heard fire engines and helicopters buzzing over my roof as I was trying to finish a work Zoom call. When I stepped outside, I saw a massive orange plume rising from the top of our hill. My stomach dropped. It was happening again.
Just a week earlier, a fire had ignited in the same area on New Year's Eve. Driving home that night, I saw our mountain ablaze. Fortunately, there were no winds, and the fire was contained by morning. That fire had threatened a hiking area dear to me and many other Angelenos—a sanctuary where I had meditated, danced in solitude, and sought the wisdom of those mountains for perspective and insight. I had even gotten engaged near there and imagined having my ashes spread across these beautiful green mountain valleys.
On January 7th, as the Palisades fire erupted, I drove up our street to assess the situation. Within a few minutes, my chest trembled with fear. A voice inside urged, “You have to get out—NOW.” The mountains themselves seemed to shake, warning me to flee. It was primal, an instinct I couldn’t ignore.
The intensity of the wind and the billowing smoke felt different from previous fires. Though I had become somewhat accustomed to wildfires near our home, I had never experienced one spreading so rapidly. The air was thick, acrid, and stung my eyes. It was no longer just a distant threat—it was here.

Following the Voice of Fierce Self-Compassion During Uncertainty
Returning to our townhouse just three minutes down the hill, I ran into a neighbor who said, "I guess we should start packing, huh?" Surprisingly, I hesitated: "Really? Do you think?" It was as if my mind hadn’t fully grasped the urgency of the moment. I pushed myself to focus and began packing a bag with a few days’ worth of clothes. The weight of uncertainty was pressing down on me but I had to keep moving.
My husband, leaving a work appointment, was trying to return home to help, but was stopped at the bottom of our hill. He abandoned his car away from the chaos and started to hike up the mile-long road before getting a ride. By the time I packed our car and drove down the street, traffic had already jammed the road. Looking down our mountain roadway, I saw dark orange smoke and a gridlock of cars. The realization hit me: I wasn’t getting out. Within a minute, I abandoned the plan and drove back up the hill—where I found my husband standing near other stopped cars. I picked him up, and we decided to go back and shelter in place for the time being.
Inside our house, I turned on the local news and saw images of my neighbors abandoning their cars, rolling suitcases down Sunset Boulevard, holding children’s hands, and carrying pets. I thought, “I am not going to be in that situation and have to walk out away from this fire!”
We attempted to evacuate again, but police stopped us a quarter of the way down, saying we could not leave. Our street was the only way out since the fire road at the top was burning. Maybe it was OK to shelter in place? But maybe it wasn’t and the decision was ours to make.
My husband was worried about his abandoned car, which contained his work laptop. I had an idea: “Let’s hike down, rescue your car, and move it to a safe place. Then we can come back for mine.” He agreed. Thinking back on this, was it really the smartest choice? Maybe not, but I was going on instinct in survival mode. Or was I being guided by fierce self-compassion?
Taking only my phone and keys, we started walking, then jogging, down the road. My husband was getting too far ahead and I kept yelling at him to wait up. Fear and the increasing realization that this walk was taking longer than planned while the fire was nearing was driving adrenaline and a powerful voice inside said: “Keep going, keep going, you’ve got this.”
We could see the fire starting to come down the left side of the hill and close to the road when a truck pulled over by my husband and he yelled for me to come down and get in. As we drove through the smoke, I asked the firefighter, "Are you sure it's safe to drive through this?" He replied, "I’m going through no matter what, so we’ll be fine." I thought to myself "Well, I’m not sure I’m fine!” but I just held on.
Being with moments like this—in the flow of survival with present danger, and following an inner force of guided determination—was the only way I could stay flexible and courageous enough, present enough, to move through fear. My inner language was a voice that kept confirming the agency I had in the midst of a traumatizing experience. This proved over and over again to be a protective barrier for me over the first days of the fire, to keep going and leaning forward into action and teamwork, acting for the good of everyone involved.
Strength in Community Action
At the bottom of the hill, we found abandoned cars, firefighters, and more dense smoke. We decided against walking through the firefight to retrieve my husband's car. Instead, as police were helping some cars evacuate, we realized we had our neighbor’s car key—their daughter had abandoned it earlier. Using their car, we made our way toward safety, retrieving my husband’s car, and eventually evacuating the Palisades.
On our way out we stopped midway again to look back and watch the fire crossing new mountainscapes heading east towards Brentwood. The growing fire was beyond massive at this point. Our beloved Will Rogers State Park was burning now and only slow grounding breaths helped me to witness this with a prayer for our nature, our homes and lives.
About an hour later we were able to finally join friends at a home where we were met with group hugs, food, and comfort. I won’t ever forget that group hug of survival, of kindness and protection, and the deep relief that we gave each other.
Focus and Determination Fueled by Fierce Self-Compassion
The next day on January 8th, we knew what we had to do. When you have nothing but the clothes on your back, not your purse, not your jacket, not your computer, you will be motivated to do anything you can to just have something personal to hold on to. Our mission was clear: find a path to drive back to our neighborhood and rescue my car. I could feel the fierce energy in me fueling my determination to move through any doubts and fear. We will find a way.
After driving past several checkpoints, we were able to slip through a local neighborhood access which took us right toward the center of the Palisades town. It was eerily grey and smoky, like a ghost town except for firefighters scattered at a home here, a building there, street by street, fighting the flames. There were hundreds, probably thousands of fires everywhere, hotspots, embers, the bank was on fire, the medical building.
We faced roadblocks at every turn, but persistence and small acts of defiance—like slipping through a grocery store parking lot—led us back to my car. The sight of it, untouched, even though there was a fire just across the street, filled me with such relief. I prayed, "Tires, don’t fail me now," as I drove away and we escaped. We did it!
Managing a Multitude of Feelings
In the days that have followed, the physical and emotional toll set in. Sleepless nights, exhaustion, and the effects of sustained adrenaline left my body aching. I had to remind myself: “Breathe. You are here. You are safe. I’ve got you.”
The exposure to the emotional distress of so many friends and neighbors who lost everything, who weren’t sure or were still being threatened by the ongoing spreading fires, has been a continual practice of vigilance and boundary-making.
With almost daily briefings by public health and safety officials, every day has been a potential reimmersion in rescue and recovery. Limiting exposure time to these emotionally activating events, of the vicarious trauma of witnessing so much, and knowing my own window of capacity has been absolutely critical for my own functioning.
Messages from concerned friends and family also flooded my phone. Though their care was deeply moving, I had to set boundaries to preserve my own well-being. It was protective to have a clear delineation of attention to keep a small bubble of calm inside of the storm. I told myself “Don’t answer the phone. Narrow your focus. Stay here and present - only small windows of communication. Preserve your energy!”
Committed to Compassionate Recovery
Nothing is normal right now except for the deep commitment to hold these experiences with patience and loving community, remembering that loving connection is the way to stave off PTSD. And to hold myself and my husband with enough room for compassion when we snap at each other for the thousands of things we must tend to while we are tired. We will build hope by being open to learning what this means for all of us so we can keep on caring while we figure out how to be better stewards of our environment, our communities—and ourselves.
As of this writing, we have found a temporary home for the next three months. We are the lucky ones whose townhouse survived and hope it will be habitable in a few months.
Despite everything, I am inspired by the outpouring of support, the unity of our community, the resilience that events like this call us to rise to, and my MSC training and personal self-compassion practice. This experience has reinforced my dedication to protecting our environment, focusing more on community, and cultivating fierce compassion especially as we face so much uncertainty in our lives.
We will rise again—together, stronger than before.