On January 7, 2025, I lost my home and everything I owned in the Palisades Fire. My story is not unique—every single one of my friends, neighbors, clients, colleagues affected by the fires are going through the exact same thing. It’s trauma bonding, but for the entire 90272 zip code.

*Before the fires—our California dream. The home we bought in the early days of COVID, a beautifully designed and renovated 1954 Midcentury by the talented Lior Schapiro of* *Numi Home*.

And here’s the thing—whether your house burned to the ground or miraculously “survived,” you’re still in for a nightmare. Pick your poison: lose everything and start from scratch, or keep your house and spend the foreseeable future locked in battles with your insurance company over rental assistance, repair costs, and whether your home is even safe to live in.

*The morning after the fire on January 8, 2025: I was at the hotel with the kids, while Eric returned to what was left—just ashes and smoke.*

For me, the reality of it hit in the weirdest moments—like the first week of Leo’s new preschool when I realized my once effortless 2-minute commute was now a grueling 13 minutes. And for whatever reason, that was the thing that broke me. Not losing everything I owned, not battling insurance, not the months of displacement—the extra 11 minutes in the car. I full-on ugly cried/bawled while trying to keep it together for Leo, so I did what any self-respecting mom in crisis would do: I blasted Leo’s favorite song “Need a Favor” by Jelly Roll (So random, but I kind of love it) at full volume so he wouldn’t hear me sobbing. Nothing like a power ballad from a tattooed country rapper to drown out your existential breakdown.

I have so many friends who say they cry every day, and honestly, I wish that were me. It’s like a controlled burn—steady, manageable, predictable. Instead, my breakdowns are sporadic and completely unhinged, like a wildfire that jumps a freeway and comes back with a vengeance when I least expect it.

Now that I’ve officially set the mood (bleak, but with a side of dark humor), let’s talk about why I’m even writing this. Honestly, I need a place to document this insane journey—partly to process everything, partly to keep track of what I’m learning, and partly because Instagram stories disappear, but this blog will be here long after my 24-hour meltdown. Whether you’re rebuilding your life too, supporting someone who is, or just here for the chaos, welcome.

So, what can you expect from this blog? A little bit of everything—mostly my personal experience navigating the absolute circus that is rebuilding a life from scratch. I’ll share what’s working (and what’s definitely not) when it comes to helping my kids process losing everything—though let’s be real, I’m no parenting expert, just a mom doing her best with what’s left. I’ll also be figuring out how to make our temporary home(s) feel somewhat beautiful, because as a serial hostess with the mostess, I can’t function in a space that doesn’t feel like me.

Entertaining was my love language. My home wasn’t just my home—it was the house with the open door, the place for impromptu wine nights, first playdates, first mom hangs. It meant so much when friends, neighbors, and school parents told me that losing my house was hard for them too—that it was the first place they truly felt welcomed. That’s exactly what I always wanted it to be. Eric, on the other hand, mostly liked my hosting streak because it meant I went into full maniac-cleaning mode before guests arrived. (You're welcome, babe.)

*One of the last events I hosted—a baby shower for my friend, who, like me, lost everything in the fire. We had no idea at the time that this would be one of our final memories in this home.*

Then there’s the wardrobe situation. I know everyone keeps throwing around the term capsule wardrobe, but when you’re on a budget, constantly moving, and forced to start fresh, it’s less about being chic and more about asking, do I really need another Alo matching set? (Answer: yes, always.)

*My favorite Mommy x Mini knit sweater from* *Palisades Gift Shop—I repurchased this timeless piece, but this time for both of my minis, Leo and Ava.*

Some things can be replaced, but some losses just hurt. My wedding dress, the purse collection I spent years building, the sentimental jewelry tied to milestones and memories. Clothes and bags are just things—until they aren’t. And that sucks.

And because I have receipts, I’ll be keeping a running list of brands that actually stepped up for the Palisades community—and those that ghosted us when it mattered (looking at you, SKIMS). You can find them under “The Hit List” and “The Shit List” tabs, respectively.

Basically, this blog is part survival guide, part therapy session, and part unfiltered group text with your most brutally honest friends. If nothing else, at least we can try to figure this out together. This isn’t the life I planned, but it’s the one I’ve got—and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that sometimes all you can do is laugh, ugly cry, and keep moving forward. Preferably with friends who get it… and a really great glass wine.

XOXO,

The Palisades Mom aka Alicia Dry Cohen

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