SEATTLE -- When he came to the United States a few years ago from South Africa, Galiyano felt he was struggling to achieve the American dream he’d heard so much about.

Adjusting to a new climate and culture were difficult for Galiyano, who is originally from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but life got even worse when he found himself homeless for four months.

“It was extremely hard and horrifying,” said Galiyano, a musician who asked to be identified only by his stage name due to his immigration status — he’s still awaiting asylum.

He’s since settled into a life in Seattle. But with President-elect Donald Trump set to take office this month, he finds his thoughts returning to uncertainty and fear about what the future holds for asylum-seekers like himself.

“Being a pending asylee, there’s this sense of hope,” he said. “I think the person who was elected strips you away of that hope and leaves you with nothing. You have your mind wandering in the far corners of your brain wondering what will happen.”

That uncertainty might feel familiar to a lot of people in immigrant communities in Washington and across the U.S. who don’t know whether their lives will be uprooted under Trump. The incoming president has promised to conduct mass deportations, use military and law enforcement to round up undocumented immigrants, and end programs that previously protected immigrants who can’t safely return to their countries of origin.

Seattle-area residents who might be affected by his immigration policies have sought to protect their mental health in a variety of ways.

Some are coping through action, trying to educate themselves and others about their own rights and resources.

Others have pursued self-care, including therapy or reconnecting with their own cultures and communities.

Nancy Juscamaita, a Seattle-based psychotherapist whose work focuses on immigrant and multicultural experiences, said she’s encouraged her clients to focus on helping others and finding what brings them joy.

“We’re in this together. That’s been my motto. It may sound naive, but self-love and compassion,” she said. “I know it’s very scary, even more so than the first time. But as of now, I’m all about reaching out and knowing we’re not alone.”

In his day job as a caseworker with Lutheran Community Services Northwest, a nonprofit organization that provides behavioral health services and other resources to immigrants, Galiyano said he tries not to let his fears affect his interactions with clients.

“I try not to get into that rabbit hole of uncertainty,” Galiyano said. “If I let myself be affected by the news, I won’t be much help to them.”

Still, he’s noticed many of the same worries from his clients, most of whom are Congolese and Angolan.

“There’s a large increase in people being concerned,” he said. “We try to calm them, and say we don’t know what’s going to happen until he’s actually in office. But many of them are really depressed, and there’s only so much we can do.”

A distinct trauma

Trump’s proposed policies could disrupt the lives of a variety of immigrant groups — from those who came to the U.S. on work visas or to study, to those fleeing violence and seeking asylum.

Regardless of how someone arrived, the process of leaving a home country and adjusting to a new one is emotionally taxing, said Allison Kojicić, the clinical director for Lutheran Community Services Northwest. The organization provides individual and group therapy for immigrants, refugees and asylum-seekers, and aims to offer treatment in clients’ native languages.

“To be a refugee, to have to be determined to be unsafe by a third party in a third country. To be a qualified asylee — to even have to prove that is so stressful,” Kojicić said. “That’s a very distinct type of trauma.”

Now, she said, the uncertainty of what the new administration will do has prompted an increase in anxiety, depression and even anger among current clients.

But she hasn’t seen more people using the organization’s mental health services following the election.

“I think there is fear in seeking out services,” she said. “If people don’t already know our team, that’s a scary thing right now.”

Juscamaita, who came to the U.S. from Peru at age 19, said she knows firsthand the feeling of leaving everything to build a home in a new country.

“To leave everything you know, uproot yourself — all the effort and the mental toll it takes to start afresh,” she said. “You feel you’re somewhat safe, but then there’s this rhetoric of, ‘Go back to where you came from.’ ”

That can shatter a person’s sense of self and safety,” Juscamaita said.

The fear of not only having to leave, but not feeling welcome in the country where you’ve made a home, can affect a person’s relationship with themselves, with others and the way they navigate the world.

“In a sense, it can be retraumatizing,” Juscamaita said.

Galiyano said the fear of losing everything also stays on his mind.

“When you move to America, you start a job, start establishing your life. You finally put your bags down,” he said. “But one thing we know about deportation is that you don’t leave with anything. Regardless of what you’ve built you will leave empty-handed. That’s what kills me.”

Healing through action

The Washington Immigrant Solidarity Network, founded in 2016 after Trump first took office, works with about 400 immigrant and refugee rights organizations, from immigrant service providers to labor unions and faith communities. It runs a deportation defense hotline, which has expanded its hours following Trump’s reelection.

On a Facebook Live event shortly after Election Day, WAISN’s Executive Director Brenda Rodriguez Lopez told listeners from around the state that it was OK to feel emotional about the results of the election.

“I’m feeling all the feelings,” she said. “I’m feeling sadness, because of the pain that our families and our communities are going to endure. I’m feeling angry because we cannot, I will not go down without a fight. There’s days I feel more energetic, other days I just let my emotions be and that’s OK.”

But she and others at WAISN have encouraged people not to let those feelings paralyze them.

“We do intentionally create spaces for healing, for people to grieve and process,” said Christy Korrow, a community resources and membership manager at WAISN. “But again, it’s also a place for people to be politicized and action-oriented. Coming together for how people are going to care for each other and resist the anti-immigrant threat.”

The organization also has rapid response teams across the state, which includes trained legal observers who can show up if Immigration and Customs Enforcement shows up at someone’s home or workplace. Those response teams can help people know their rights and observe whether those rights are being violated.

WAISN volunteers can also help people navigate court proceedings and train them on how to speak to their legislators, including taking an annual trip to the state Capitol for an immigrant and refugee advocacy day.

“As far as our healing work, it’s largely going to be empowering people with knowing their rights, empowering people with information and having strength in the community,” Korrow said.

Caring for each other

Kojicić, the Lutheran Community Services Northwest director, said even as the next few months bring potential instability, she hopes more people will reach out for help if they need it.

In addition to therapy, she said, the organization works with women who have experienced gender-based violence during their immigration journeys. Other programs help clients use creativity to process trauma — sewing, art, dance and music.

“It can be adapted to a lot of languages and cultures,” Kojicić said. “Not all Western philosophies are going to be great solutions for people depending on their culture or trauma.”

“Even the radical act of slowing down and doing a slow, meditative type of stitch can feel so radically different than how your brain or your body is processing information,” she said. “It’s different than the deep breathing and maybe the exercises that we’ve all heard of before.”

The organization also pairs volunteer behavioral health providers with attorneys and their asylum-seeking clients.

As Galiyano, the caseworker, tries to stay positive for his clients, he’s turned to running, music and prayer to buoy his own mental health.

“I’m telling myself I made it here, and that’s for a reason,” he said. “I believe there will be a way forward, I just don’t know what it is.”

Juscamaita, the psychotherapist, said she’s steeling herself against Trump’s rhetoric and trying not to let it get to her.

“I’m almost determined not to let any words that come out of this person’s mouth make me question whether I’m in the right place, or make me feel unwelcome,” she said. “The community, friends, everything I’ve built — I will not let you crumble that.”

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