When the heat melts the soul: A psychological interpretation of extreme temperatures

There’s an expression we use almost without thinking on the hottest days: ‘my brain’s melting’. It’s a figure of speech, of course, but behind it lies something truer than we’d care to admit. Extreme heat is not just physical discomfort, it is an experience that undermines the very structure of the self - that sensation, usually taken for granted, of having boundaries, a centre, a sense of continuity.

The body on the front line

From a psychological point of view, it all starts with the body. When the temperature rises above a certain threshold, the body redirects its resources towards thermoregulation: blood flows to the extremities, the heart rate increases, and attention narrows. What was once an automatic and invisible flow - breathing, thinking, moving - becomes a conscious effort. And this is where the sensation of ‘melting’ arises: it is not metaphorical, it is neurophysiological. The heat depletes the cognitive reserves we normally use to regulate our emotions, to plan ahead and to stay calm. It is hardly surprising that studies on interpersonal violence and irritability show an increase during the hottest months: when mental energy is entirely absorbed by thermal survival, there is less scope left to restrain one’s impulses.

The dissolution of boundaries

There is also a more subtle, more strictly ‘psychoanalytic’ level. Extreme heat brings about a sort of regression: the boundaries between the self and the environment become porous. We sweat, we become confused, we lose the clarity of our thoughts. It is an experience which, on a small scale, is reminiscent of certain states of ego dissolution described in clinical practice, that sensation of ‘no longer being entirely defined’, of melting into the surrounding space. It is no coincidence that the collective imagination associates intense heat with altered states: the stifling heat of summer afternoons, lethargy, and the heat-induced hallucinations recounted in the literature from the South. The heat does not kill solely through biological means: it dismantles us, even before it strikes.

Time that slows down and warps

Another little-discussed effect is that on the perception of time. In extreme heat, the hours seem to stretch out, afternoons become interminable, and this stretching produces a particular form of anxiety: the impossibility of ‘doing’, of producing, of feeling effective. In a culture that measures personal worth by productivity, the forced inactivity imposed by the heat can generate a subtle sense of guilt, almost a sense of shame at failing to ‘keep up’. It is a further form of dissolution: that of an identity built on doing, which dissolves when doing becomes impossible.

A silent climate-related grief

Finally, there is a broader, collective dimension that is increasingly affecting those working in mental health: climate anxiety. Heatwaves are no longer exceptional events but recurring reminders of a world that is changing beneath our feet. Every summer that is hotter than the last brings with it a small sense of grief , for a climate that will never return, for a sense of environmental stability that is melting away along with the glaciers. This grief, often unrecognised as such, compounds the physical exhaustion and contributes to that widespread feeling of ‘melting away’, of no longer being able to hold it all together.

Rediscovering a centre

What, then, remains from a clinical perspective? First and foremost, recognising that the psychological strain caused by the heat is not weakness but physiology: giving oneself permission to slow down, to do less, to protect the hottest hours of the day just as one would protect a wound. Then, seek out small anchors; simple rituals, a cool place, human contact; that restore to the self those boundaries which the heat tends to dissolve. Finally, allow yourself to feel, without repressing it, the deepest unease: that of a changing planet, which asks us to come to terms with a collective grief even before seeking a technical solution.

The heat melts the soul, yes. But it is precisely in that melting, in that temporary loss of boundaries, there is also an implicit invitation: to recognise just how much our mental stability depends on an external world that we continue, culpably, to treat as infinite.