To my followers in Ireland and the UK, I hope that things have settled back to normality after the devastation of Storm Eowyn. Apparently, it was one of the worst storms that we’ve seen in our lifetime, and it’s predicted that these so-called “weather events” will become more prevalent in the future. As an island country, there’s only so much we can do. What are those who are living beside those idyllic sea views supposed to do, surround themselves in sandbags and hope for the best?

I must be honest: the only other storm I ever took seriously was Storm Ophelia in 2017. Others didn’t take it quite as seriously, alas; I remember looking outside to see a couple walking past the house, as if it were merely a brisk winter’s morning. Moments later, a leaning tree, firmly rooted in the patch of grass outside our front gate,  blew to the ground, the roots exposed, reminiscent of the uncovered spokes of a bicycle. All things considered, we fared well during that storm; no-one got hurt, our property (including the rabbit hutches outside) remained intact, and we never lost power. Surely if we could survive Ophelia, we could survive anything, right?

As the weather warnings intensified, I contacted my friend Orla who came the night before and helped us to heap everything into the shed. We charged up the portable chargers “just in case”, and I prepared food for the next day. Being honest, part of me thought the whole thing was a pointless exercise. When I went to bed that night, the wind was gathering pace, banging around the windows and walls. Still, I slept for an hour or two, but when I woke, the room was clothed in darkness. Even though I’m a forty-year-old woman, I feel no shame in admitting that I’m afraid of the dark. I reached for my phone and noticed that the battery icon was white, not green, which meant that it was no longer charging. Shit. We’ve lost power.

There was nothing I could do at five o’clock in the morning, so I waited until the sun rose to get out of bed. Everything I would normally do in the morning was now scuppered by this lack of electricity. I’ll just make a coffee…no, wait… I’ll hoover… oh, I can’t…. and so on. The dogs were whinging at me, clearly unimpressed that they weren’t getting their morning walk. However, I think the situation became clear whenever I opened the back door and the two of them nearly blew away on their quest for their morning constitutional! After that, they were happy to bunk down in their crate and wait for the chaos to pass. And it occurred to me that was all I could do, too.

Orla texted me, concerned at our lack of power. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, and unfortunately at that stage, there wasn’t. But we were extremely lucky: at 2pm, without any fanfare, the power returned. We all hastily showered, stuck our phones onto chargers and prepped food in case we lost it again. Alas, I know that not everyone was as lucky, and we offered assistance to anyone we could think of who might have needed it. Four friends stayed with us until their power came back, and it was an honour to help. After all, it’s a horrible feeling to be stuck in the dark, feeling like there is no-one to turn to.

Very few of us, except the cold-hearted (and I don’t know anyone who falls into that category), would refuse help to anyone who needed it. The trouble is, we don’t always know, or can’t always tell, when someone needs help. And afterwards, we always feel terrible that someone has endured suffering alone, and we admonish them: “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I would’ve been there for you.” Of course, logically, we know this – but sometimes, when you are caught in the eye of your own personal storm, it’s difficult to explain the devastating impact of the damaging gusts raging around your mind. 

You can’t catch a breath. You can’t even think straight because your brain has automatically switched to survival mode. All you can do is grab onto something and hope you don’t fly away. You learn to become numb, because you can’t handle the guilt that goes hand-in-hand with feeling your emotions. For me, I don’t like letting people down. No feels like an impossible sentence to utter. So, rather than setting boundaries, I hide and pull away. 

And boy, did I hide. I left a beloved writer’s group (but rejoined today – hurrah!). I didn’t make contact with anyone, choosing instead to watch reruns on Netflix (up until last year, Only Fools and Horses was the only television programme I watched, or binged). Each day was a long struggle, from the time I woke to the time my head caressed the pillow again. And it didn’t have to be. I could have called someone, asked to be rescued from the storm. But I was ashamed. I was haggard and browbeaten, my confidence having flown away. Eventually, it dawned on me that sitting around waiting for the confidence to return was not going to make it happen.

I’m still in the baby steps phase, but I only made two New Year’s Resolution this year: one is to write as much as possible, even if I think it’s shit, and the other is to do everything in my control to ensure that, in low moods or dark days, I have some kind of emotional powerbank charged at all times, ready to use in emergency situations. Last year was tough. I lost four friends within a twelve-month period whom I think about every day, and the fact that human life is fragile has not escaped me. Of course, toxic positivity is just as dangerous as negativity, but I need to ringfence my emotional health, protect it from the storms of everyday life.

That said, in writing this I do not intend to trivialise the damage caused by Storm Eowyn two weeks ago. To those of you still waiting for power or water to return, facing repairs to your properties or cars, or have lost food due to lack of electricity, I’m thinking of you. The government needs to be prepared. We can – must — do better in the future. We must be more prepared for storms yet to come.