When I arrived in Jamaica, I thought it would be a quick business trip — meetings, a few days of work, and then back home. I didn’t expect to find myself in the middle of one of the most devastating storms the island had faced in years.
When Hurricane Melissa made landfall, everything changed. Within hours, the calm Caribbean breeze I had grown up knowing turned into something fierce — a wind that seemed to carry both power and sorrow.
I ended up staying an extra two weeks, not by choice, but because there was nowhere to go. Airports were closed, roads were flooded, and the island itself felt suspended in a kind of collective disbelief.
The photos shared throughout this post are original — real images of the damage, the faces of resilience, and the quiet moments in between. This isn’t just a reflection; it’s a lived experience.
When Business Plans Turn Into Survival Plans
That first night was long. The wind sounded like it was tearing at the edges of the world. I could hear debris hitting the walls, and at one point, the power went out completely. The darkness wasn’t just outside — it felt internal too, a kind of helplessness I hadn’t felt in years.
When morning came, the world was unrecognizable. Streets had turned into rivers. Roofs were missing. Fallen trees and power lines made every path uncertain. The air carried the thick smell of salt, mud, and loss.
And that’s when the reality set in — I was stranded. Flights canceled. Communications limited. My business trip had transformed into an unexpected stay in the middle of a national tragedy.
Witnessing Strength Up Close
In the following days, I witnessed something extraordinary. Despite exhaustion and uncertainty, people came together. Neighbors helped neighbors. Families shared what little they had. Laughter somehow echoed through the pain.
I saw young people clearing debris to reopen roads. I saw women cooking for entire streets from a single outdoor pot. I saw children smiling even as they played among fallen branches.
It reminded me of what I’ve always loved most about Jamaica — the resilience, the heart, the instinct to care for one another even when we have little left to give.
💛 One scene I witnessed still moves me deeply — a mother holding her child’s hand while pointing to the sky, while other persons in the community calling out to each other by name asking “if everything is ok” with them, and giving a helping hand to assist each other with clearing debris as the sun finally broke through the clouds. That moment said everything: we endure, we rise, we hope, we rebuild.
Learning to Slow Down and Listen
Being stuck forced me to slow down in ways I hadn’t in years. Without work, internet, or routine, I learned to listen again — to the sound of the wind settling, to conversations around candles at night, to my own thoughts that I’d been too busy to face.
Every sunrise felt sacred. Every meal shared felt like communion. I started writing more — journaling not to record facts, but feelings.
“The mango tree still stands,” I wrote one morning. “It’s bent, scarred, but alive. Maybe that’s what healing looks like — not untouched, but unbroken.”
Returning Home, But Forever Changed
When the airports finally reopened, I boarded my flight back to America with a heavy heart. Physically, I was leaving Jamaica — but emotionally, I was still there.
As a Jamaican-born person who’s spent years abroad, the devastation struck me on a deeply personal level. I didn’t just witness the destruction of homes; I saw the endurance of the human spirit. And I knew I couldn’t just move on like nothing happened.
Back in the U.S., I’m now channeling that experience into something meaningful — putting plans in place and making myself available to provide mental health and emotional support to those affected by Hurricane Melissa and others still grappling with post-disaster trauma.
Because I’ve lived it.
I’ve felt the fear, the uncertainty, and the exhaustion.
And I’ve tested and proven that healing — real healing — begins with self-preservation, with compassion, and with the courage to ask for help.
A Message to Those Still Healing
If you are reading this from Jamaica, or from anywhere that felt the weight of this storm, please know: your emotions are valid. The sleepless nights, the flashes of anxiety when rain starts again — these are signs of a body and mind that have survived something immense.
Healing doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine. It means giving yourself grace as you rebuild — one day, one breath, one sunrise at a time.
You don’t have to do it alone. Support, care, and connection are available — and I’m committed to being part of that.
We heal by helping others heal. And every act of empathy becomes a thread in the fabric of recovery.
🤝 How You Can Get Support
If you or someone you know is struggling after Hurricane Melissa or any other life-altering event, help is available.
Through The Traveling Couch, I’m offering virtual mental health support, trauma recovery sessions, and resilience coaching for individuals and families in Jamaica, the Caribbean, and the diaspora.
Here’s how you can connect:
- 💬 Book a Session: Request one-on-one or group sessions focused on post-disaster recovery and emotional wellness.
- 💛 Community Resources: We’re compiling free self-care tools, guided exercises, and trauma-sensitive articles for ongoing support.
Whether you’re rebuilding a home or rebuilding yourself — remember, you are not alone. Healing takes time, but every act of care, every breath, and every moment of connection moves you closer to peace.
💛 These reflections and images are shared from my firsthand experience living through Hurricane Melissa in Jamaica. I returned to the U.S. changed, inspired, and more dedicated than ever to supporting the emotional and mental health of those still rebuilding.