October began harshly this year, with a Hurricane Sandwich wreaking havoc across Tampa Bay and leaving many people uncertain of what came next. We found ourselves searching for ways to cope with the emotional storm left behind by the physical ones. The uncertainty of how much was lost and what we might never recover flooded our minds and begged to be let out. We struggle to understand why we are left behind when everything we own and cherish has disappeared. There is no rhyme or rhythm to grappling with this loss, there is only what we think and how we feel. Despite the difficulty we face during this time, it is easy to forget that in the aftermath of the devastation left behind by these unprecedented natural disasters, we find ourselves in a unique position to create.
The names ‘Helene’ and ‘Milton’ have begun to haunt the narrative of our lives. It is almost fitting, with the Halloween season coming up, that we would be forced to remember the horrific sounds of rushing winds blowing out screen panels and knocking trees down over cars and houses alike. There is a certain realness to the Spooky Season this year as leftover fear continues to permeate the air in recovering cities. No haunted house is more terrifying than sitting inside your own home and watching flood waters pour in with the inability to do anything about it. To witness the horrors, once limited to TV screens, occur in our own homes–to lose the ability to truly see at all, with only dimly lit candles to guide us until they’re put out by wind or water is a life-changing experience. A traumatic one. The gushing echo of water filled our ears with such force it ricocheted through the entire building, shaking the foundation of a three-story townhome. There was no way out–the streets were even worse for wear than the home, and all we could do was sit back and watch in terror as our lives were washed away by the violent, displaced currents. In the end, the ghost of soaked scraps lingers amidst the wreckage of what was once a home.
Even now, weeks after disaster struck, our heartbeats pick up with high-speed winds and daunting weather forecasts. We go back to work or school and hear the loss of mementos in the pouring coffee that sounds too much like rushing water, and the blasting air conditioning that reminds us just how dangerous winds can be. The horror finds its place back on TV screens, in movies we cannot watch because there is no power to run them. Either way, it does not matter. There is no horror movie as frightening as the ones that are real–the ones we experience.
Then, there is After. After the ocean leaves our homes, and with it flows our life-turned-debris, what are we left with? The rubble of neighbors’ houses litters the street and no one knows where to start. Eventually, there are things that need to get done. Clean up, assess, process. We can throw ourselves into labor instead of despair. But there is always After. Untold stories linger on the tips of our tongues and the pads of our fingers. They do not have to remain untold. There is something healing in putting pen-to-paper or hand-to-keyboard and just letting all the fear trickle out onto the page–or screen. During times when tensions are high and devastation is vast, there is an opportunity to release leftover emotions by writing them down.
It is no secret amongst psychologists that writing is a good method to process your thoughts and emotions during distressing times. It is evident, through the encouragement of journaling, that writing has always been a way of putting thought to paper. But writing is more than a simple recollection or accumulation of thoughts. Writing is a way to create something new–a way to tell a story when there is nothing else to say or it becomes too hard to speak. It has proven to be extremely therapeutic to simply note things down when one starts to feel overwhelmed. Whether that be through poetry, letters, fiction, or any other form of storytelling, there always exists a place in which we might feel safe to be afraid or devastated. Sometimes, the best way to face the storm of our lives is to write it down–to create something amidst all the chaos.
There is also something to be said about making the most of what life has given you. Lemons to lemonade. Of course, the lemons in this equation are natural disasters, but the concept still remains. There is an adjustment period we are now forced to go through in which we begin to realize all the things we cannot control. In the midst of this, writing would be a very helpful tool for those who seek to have some form of controllable outlet for their thoughts and emotions. There is already enough grief lingering around the city, and it needs somewhere to go. What better place to put it than in words? Here, stories live on and emotions are remembered in ways that no longer have to hurt. Here, natural disasters cannot take more than what they already have. Here, we move on.
Now, we are in recovery and healing. The daunting sense of disconnect wears off and we must attend to rebuilding our homes. Some people volunteer to clear the streets, others help those stuck in shelters. It is not only our homes that need rebuilding, though. It is our minds and hearts. For this, some people paint, while others scream. Some people are still searching for answers wherever they can find them. And some people write. As nature mends itself from natural disasters, we must also learn to heal and grow from these experiences. Nature reels in her waves as we pour out our words. It is another transaction, but this time it does not have to hurt or leave us with nothing. This time, we are making something that cannot be taken.
Blog written by Lux Figueroa
Richter Publishing 