Should I panic now?
What six days of flooding, darkness + grief taught me about staying present
On Tuesday 5 May, I lay on my futon couch beside a softly snapping fire, watching the African rain fall among the trees outside. How beautiful it is, I said to my friend Liz on the phone.
I didn’t know that the rain would fall harder, faster and thicker and wouldn’t stop for four nights, six days — straight.
What came next has been officially classified as a disaster in my region of the Western Cape in South Africa.
Winds (up to 120km/h).
Rainfall (150–200mm (that’s 3-4 times more than normal).
Flooding (90,000 soon to be displaced).
Trees mostly stayed upright on my property, but the ground couldn’t hold its water. It came in through my floor constantly for days…
We live beside a forest and far enough from large water bodies, so I wasn’t worried about river or ocean floods, but all day and all night, I had to keep an eye on water levels INSIDE the house and wring towels into buckets every 13 minutes (I had a timer) so it wouldn’t trickle by my bed and pool by the coffee table.
When it was past midnight and the lights flickered and fizzled out, I was left to mop the seeping water in moonless pitch darkness (😫🌚).
Wet feet and without sight, I realised I was in a HARD CORE situation.
Not only because I was alone (my partner was overseas for work and the winds broke contact with the outside world), but my heart was also carrying heavy grief with some tragic news just a few days before.
Disaster-level storms on the outside and the inside. It was a lot to manage.
I had a moment: should I panic now?
I was surprised because instead, I just breathed. I felt myself say, it’s okay. We can do this.
Just take one step at a time and soon it will be morning. The rain can’t fall forever.
I held those parts that felt numb and frozen, and who wished to safely bury myself under the problem-free duvet.
They felt me, welcomed in my here-and-now solidness.
I could be strong AND honest about my vulnerability. To care for it, while showing up and staying present.
I couldn’t quite believe this was my reaction. I think if this had happened 5 or 10 years ago, I would have collapsed.
This was showing me that yes, I have changed with all the work I’ve done. I can hold myself when shit gets hard and stay standing. Present.
Internal Family Systems 🙏 Bwiti initiation 🙏 ISTA 🙏
Observing myself, these have each shaped my resilience — psychologically, spiritually, relationally, physically.
(Because isn’t that what we need when shit gets hard in life, in parenting, relationships, business, family, community?)
I lit some candles and in their light, I got up to mop and wring again.
And again ..
Eventually the day came, though the rain continued, hard.
And then some days later, it all stopped (hallelujah!) and the sun shone.
Its ta-da brightness made me squint and I soaked up every ounce of its warmth!
I drove to the local market, passing hundreds of massive Yellowwood and Eucalyptus trees that had fallen as if the ground was butter…
I felt all my parts — shock, concern for people who lost their homes, cars and even their lives, numbness, fear for my safety, gratitude, awe, respect for nature.
And I felt my Self. The one inside me who can keep perspective. Calm. Spaciousness. Steadiness.
I connected with a few locals (we made it!) and drove home with my eggs, sourdough and fruits. I was ready for the next step: repair.
Sometimes the storms are not just meteorological, but heart-breaks, relationship collapse, inner thought/emotional struggles, betrayal, griefs, overwhelms.
If you’re feeling the intensity of life and want to develop inner tools for resilience, talk to me about 1:1 Internal Family Systems-informed sessions and traditional Bwiti initiation.
These methods can bell you stay connected to your Self amidst grief, uncertainty and overwhelm. They’re here to put you in contact with your deepest power. True. Whole. Resilient.
And I’m pleased to say I’m dry, my place is okay and I’m back in action delivering this work 😜
P.S. I want to acknowledge how destabilising it feels when the floor, walls and roof of one’s home are compromised. I was awed to see how it impacted me, especially after the brunt of it.
I could understand: literally the ground beneath my feet become wobbly and my safe space (home) was no longer contained. Among it all, I was able to hold myself and also ask for support when needed (especially when my partner finally returned!).
I also really feel for the people who still don’t have electricity and who lost roofs, cars and even loved ones. It’s big.
To support disaster-response aid please see Gift of the Givers (NGO actively distributing meals, blankets, hygiene supplies and emergency support in flood-hit communities) and South African Red Cross Society (humanitarian organisation for emergency relief, shelters and disaster recovery support) 🙏
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