The Internal Hurricane

In October, while on a family holiday, I found myself unexpectedly caught abroad during Hurricane Melissa in Jamaica. What began as a restful break quickly shifted into something very different — strong winds, flooding, power outages, structural damage, rationed food and water, and the sudden loss of internet connection.

Temporary accommodation created inside the hotel following Hurricane Melissa.

We were safe — and I want to be clear about that. We were staying in a well-resourced environment, supported by extraordinary hotel staff who continued working amid personal uncertainty and visible devastation around them. Others across the island faced far greater losses. Still, the experience brought a profound psychological impact.

It wasn’t just an external storm — it was an internal one too.

With every environmental disruption came parallel questions:

Where will we sleep if parts of the building are no longer safe? How long will the water and food supplies last? How do I reassure my child when I don’t know the answers myself? How do we connect with loved ones when the digital grid disappears? What happens when the planes stop flying — and we’re suddenly stuck?

For many travellers, including myself, the loss of internet was quietly destabilising. We watched people scroll through old messages, look at familiar photos, replay downloaded films or games — anything offering emotional grounding or connection when communication was impossible. It highlighted something many of us rarely have to think about:

Our phones are not just tools — they are emotional anchors.

Without them, a layer of safety and reassurance simply evaporates.

What This Experience Shifted in Me

Structural damage inside the resort after the storm.

As a psychologist who works with trauma, I thought I understood crisis responses well. Being inside one — even from a position of relative privilege — deepened that understanding humbly and viscerally.

It reminded me how little separates stability from uncertainty. How quickly safety becomes fragile. How powerfully humans seek connection when distressed. How vulnerability does not respect geography, profession, or preparation.

Above all, it strengthened my respect for the resilience displayed by local staff and communities — individuals who were not temporarily displaced by a storm but living its full aftermath, long after travellers could leave.

Clinical Reflections

The experience reinforced core truths I carry into my work:

• Fear often escalates when information disappears — not just when danger appears.

• Trauma responses are shaped as much by uncertainty and isolation as by overt threat.

• Digital disconnection can intensify vulnerability — especially for those already holding anxiety, trauma histories, or separation distress.

• Resilience emerges not only from personal coping skills, but from human connection and solidarity, even when circumstances are stark.

It also deepened something quieter: humility.

A view of the wider community beyond the resort, following the hurricane.

Not everything we respond to clinically can be fully “understood” from books or training alone. Some lessons arrive through lived disruption, reminding us how deeply human our profession is — and must remain.

Looking Ahead

In February, I’ll be sharing further reflections on this experience with fellow clinicians in an online professional learning event, exploring what natural disasters, outages, and global instability teach us about trauma responses — both in our clients and in ourselves as practitioners.

More details to come soon.

For now, I’m simply sitting with gratitude for safety, compassion for those who were not afforded the same protection, and renewed respect for the human nervous system — fragile, adaptive, and resilient all at once.