For each person, their loss is important and cannot be minimized
En el refugio de Vista Alegre, familias desplazadas por las lluvias viven una espera suspendida entre lo que dejaron atrás y lo que aún no saben. La psicóloga de Cruz Roja Rocío Fernández acompaña ese tránsito invisible, recordándonos que el verdadero peso de una catástrofe no siempre llega con el agua, sino después, cuando el silencio permite que la pérdida tome forma. El duelo no atendido, advierte, no desaparece: se convierte en cuerpo.
- Las familias evacuadas llegaron al refugio asustadas y desorientadas, sin saber cuándo podrían volver ni qué encontrarían al hacerlo.
- La incertidumbre sobre el estado de sus hogares mantiene a los evacuados en una tensión emocional que aún no ha alcanzado su punto más crítico.
- Los niños han continuado con cierta rutina escolar, pero la fragilidad de la situación sigue latente y sin resolverse.
- El impacto emocional real llegará cuando los afectados puedan ver con sus propios ojos el alcance de los daños, y ese momento puede desencadenar una crisis más profunda.
- Los expertos recomiendan limitar el consumo de noticias y redes sociales, donde la avalancha de imágenes puede convertirse en una fuente adicional de daño para quienes ya están en crisis.
- El duelo no procesado puede manifestarse en síntomas físicos como agotamiento, cefaleas o dolor de estómago, recordando que la salud mental y la física son sistemas inseparables.
En el refugio de Vista Alegre, las familias que abandonaron sus hogares antes de que llegaran las lluvias viven en una especie de pausa forzada. Salieron deprisa, con miedo, sin saber cuándo podrían regresar ni en qué estado encontrarían lo que dejaron. Entre ellas trabaja Rocío Fernández, psicóloga de Cruz Roja, cuya labor se centra en algo tan sencillo y tan difícil como estar presente y escuchar.
Cuando los evacuados llegaron al refugio, el impacto emocional era evidente: angustia, preocupación por sus casas, el impulso casi físico de volver. Con los niños, se ha intentado mantener algo de rutina; algunos han seguido yendo al colegio. Fernández no ha observado signos de ansiedad aguda en los más pequeños, aunque la situación sigue siendo frágil. Lo más duro, advierte, todavía no ha llegado.
El verdadero golpe vendrá cuando las personas puedan ver el estado real de sus hogares y calibrar lo que han perdido. Fernández, que también prestó apoyo psicológico tras un accidente de tren en Adamuz, es clara: la pérdida no es relativa. Lo que cada persona ha perdido importa, y no puede minimizarse ni compararse. El duelo debe ser atendido, no solo por bienestar emocional, sino porque ignorarlo tiene consecuencias físicas: cansancio, dolores de cabeza, malestar estomacal. La mente y el cuerpo no funcionan por separado.
Sus recomendaciones apuntan al autocuidado y a conocer los propios límites. Si las noticias generan angustia, es legítimo desconectarse. Lo mismo vale para las redes sociales, donde en los primeros días circularon miles de imágenes y actualizaciones sobre las inundaciones. Para alguien que ya está en crisis, ese flujo constante puede convertirse en un daño más. Poner límites a lo que se consume, dice Fernández, es también una forma de cuidarse.
At the Vista Alegre shelter, families who fled their homes ahead of the rains sit in a kind of suspended uncertainty. They left quickly, many of them frightened, with no clear sense of when they might return or what they would find if they did. Red Cross volunteers and staff move among them, and one of the organization's psychologists, Rocío Fernández, has been watching how people absorb the shock of displacement.
Fernández describes the work in the shelter as fundamentally about presence and listening. The goal is to help people carry the weight of what has happened as steadily as possible. When families first arrived, the emotional toll was unmistakable. They came distressed, worried about the homes they had abandoned, caught in a fog of uncertainty and desperate to return. The impulse to go back, Fernández notes, is entirely natural when your life has been suddenly upended.
With children, the Red Cross has tried to preserve some semblance of routine. Some have continued attending school. Fernández has not observed signs of acute anxiety in the younger evacuees, though the situation remains fragile and unresolved. The real weight of what has happened, she suggests, has not yet fully landed. Many people do not yet know the condition of their homes, whether they have lost possessions, whether the damage is minor or catastrophic. That knowledge, when it comes, may bring a different kind of crisis altogether.
Fernández, who also provided psychological support after a train accident in Adamuz, emphasizes that the full emotional impact cannot yet be measured. The true reckoning will come when people can assess what they have lost. She is careful to note that loss is not relative—for each person, what they have lost matters, and it cannot be minimized or compared. Grief, she insists, must be attended to. It is not merely a matter of emotional well-being. Unprocessed grief can surface as physical symptoms: exhaustion, headaches, stomach pain. Mental health and physical health are not separate systems. They move together.
Her recommendations center on self-care and boundaries. People should know themselves well enough to recognize how much information they can absorb without being overwhelmed. If news coverage is causing distress, there is no shame in stepping away. The same applies to social media, where images and updates from the flooding spread rapidly. In those first days, thousands of posts circulated across platforms. For someone already in crisis, that constant stream can become another form of harm. Setting limits on what you consume, Fernández says, is itself a form of taking care of yourself.
Citas Notables
We try to listen actively and help them carry the situation as well as possible— Rocío Fernández, Red Cross psychologist
The emotional impact cannot yet be fully measured because many people don't know the condition of their homes. When they confirm whether they've lost possessions, the emotional impact could be very significant— Rocío Fernández
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
When families first arrived at the shelter, what did you actually see? What did distress look like in those first hours?
They came in frightened, preoccupied with what they'd left behind. The fear was about the unknown—not knowing when they could go home, not knowing what state their homes would be in. That uncertainty is its own kind of weight.
You mention that the full emotional impact can't be measured yet. What changes when people finally see their homes again?
Right now, many don't know if they've lost anything. When that knowledge arrives—when they see damage, or missing belongings, or worse—that's when grief becomes concrete. That's when the real work begins.
You're drawing a line between mental and physical health. Why does that matter in a moment like this?
Because people often think of grief as something that happens in the mind. But if you don't process it, it shows up in your body. Exhaustion, pain, illness. They're connected. You can't separate them.
What about the children? Are they protected by not fully understanding what's happening?
Some protection, perhaps. We've tried to keep their routines intact—school, normal activities. But they're watching their parents. They feel the anxiety. We're not shielding them from reality; we're just trying to give them stability while everything else is uncertain.
You mention social media as a risk. Why is that different from other sources of information?
The volume. The constant stream. If you're already overwhelmed, seeing thousands of images and updates can push you past what you can actually process. Knowing when to step away isn't avoidance—it's survival.