The news of renewed ICE raids in Los Angeles, and across the country, has hit our communities hard.
Again.
This isn’t new. But it is retraumatizing. It is violent. And it is terrifying for undocumented immigrants, mixed-status families, and entire neighborhoods who now live under the constant threat of being torn apart.
As a Chicana I am heartbroken and furious. I know that systems of oppression don’t take breaks, and neither does the trauma they create. But something about this moment feels especially heavy. Somewhere in the country, children are finding out their parent/s won’t be home tonight. There are peaceful protestors being shot at and maced. People are being kidnapped by masked people in mix matched uniforms. And somehow we are just supposed to move on with our day like this is normal?
This post is not just to name the pain, it’s to name what it does to our mental health and how we can take care of ourselves and each other in the face of it. There is also collective exhaustion as Latinx therapists and care workers who are witnessing our people being targeted, again and again. I see you too.
The Psychological Toll of Living Under Threat
Living under the threat of deportation, or loving someone who is, is a trauma in and of itself.
For undocumented immigrants and their families, this looks like:
- Chronic anxiety and fear of family separation
- Hypervigilance (always watching, always waiting)
- Difficulty sleeping, concentrating, or feeling safe in everyday life
- Depression and hopelessness
- Internalized shame, silence, and isolation
And for therapists, teachers, caseworkers, and others supporting these communities, especially those of us who are part of these communities, this moment brings up rage, grief, burnout, and a profound sense of helplessness.
We Can’t Heal in Isolation. We Heal in Community
We cannot prevent the raids. We cannot dismantle ICE overnight. But we can care for ourselves and each other while we resist. We can create pockets of safety and solidarity. We can hold each other up when it feels like the ground is crumbling.
Here are some ways to tend to your mental health (and your community’s) right now:
1. Name What’s Happening
You’re not “being dramatic.” You’re not “overreacting.” Your fear is valid. Your anger is righteous. Talk about what’s happening with people you trust. Let yourself feel. Let yourself grieve.
2. Create Safety Plans
If you or someone you love is undocumented, it’s painful to think about, but planning ahead can bring some sense of control. Share Know Your Rights materials. Help families identify emergency contacts, legal support, and child care plans.
3. Limit Media Consumption
Stay informed, but don’t flood your nervous system with fear. Check the news once or twice a day from a trusted source. Then log off. You are allowed to take breaks from the headlines.
4. Find Small Joys
Joy is resistance. Whether it’s your morning cafecito, dancing to your favorite song, or a walk with your kids, claim those moments. They matter.
5. Reach Out, Don’t Isolate
Fear isolates us. Shame silences us. But healing lives in connection. Check in on your people. Text someone. Ask your friend how they’re holding up. Make space for others to breathe and be seen.
6. Therapists and Social Workers: Tend to Yourselves Too
We are holding so much. And we are not machines. Take your own mental health seriously. Take a day. Take a breath. Talk to a colleague. It is not a luxury to care for yourself, it is a necessity. And, yes, It is our ethical responsibility because we aren’t showing up for those we serve as our best selves when we don’t take care of ourselves.
We Are Not Powerless
We may not be able to stop the raids. But we can:
- Organize mutual aid
- Support immigrant defense funds
- Amplify immigrant voices
- Push for policy change
- Demand our institutions and elected leaders do better
- Keep showing up for one another
Closing Words
To the undocumented community: You are not alone. You are not invisible. You are not disposable.
To those of us holding space for others: Your care matters. Your fatigue is real. Your work is part of the resistance.
To all of us: Our mental health is not separate from what’s happening in the world. And we deserve to tend to it with gentleness, courage, and community.
With deep love and solidarity,
Xochilt
The Chicana Therapist