Did you notice it’s hurricane season again? What, with no decorations, or Hallmark cards, or three-day weekends, you missed it? Understandable.
As established by the US’s National Hurricane Center (NHC) of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), the Atlantic hurricane season runs June 1st through November. The whole month of November. A full six months, much to my husband’s frustration. As full-time liveaboard cruisers whose goal is to traipse around the tropics, that limits our travels by half the year. I’m less frustrated, more consternated…consterned…oh hell, filled to the hilt with consternation, the difference being in addition to the annoyance of a semi-annual hobbling, I get extra perks like anxiety, dismay, dread.
What a super-duper rewards program, huh? Sign me up.
Why I’ve Been Anticipating a Rough Season
So, 2024’s hurricane season was predicted months ago to be a doozy, thanks to that dreaded, dodgy ENSO, the El Niño-Southern Oscillation. Without getting too sciency (let’s face it, I’m no meteorologist, so check out the links to learn from the experts), this summer’s La Niña climate pattern in play limits vertical wind shear, which in turn allows the swirly winds of a tropical cyclone to grow, intensify. Pour in a little overheated water, and you’ve perfected the recipe for a Costco-sized serving of cyclones. Since the Atlantic waters measured in May what is normally found in the month of August, some of these storms are due to reach monster proportions. Plus, the activity is predicted to get “sporty” far sooner in the season. This is already proving true.
The Trigger
As of this writing, 2024’s second Atlantic named storm, Hurricane Beryl, is barreling towards the Lesser Antilles as a Category 3, predicted to landfall as a Cat 4 on St. Vincent and the Grenadines and Grenada, where two dear cruiser friends are hunkering down “outside of the hurricane box” where it’s supposed to be safer. I reached out to one of them, checking in to make certain they’re prepared for this nightmare, of which I am too familiar. In reminding her that my lived experience dictates my know-it-all recommendations and drives my informed overprotectiveness for her, I accidentally rattled the monster’s cage.
I’ve been triggered a couple of times already this summer, when typical-for-the-season thunderstorms encroached, manifesting ominous inky clouds and bone-shattering thunder/lightning shows. “I’m safe. The boat is safe. It’s just a storm,” I repeated as I tried to ground myself using therapeutic tactics like naming five things I can sense: staring at the floor beneath my feet, hearing the laughter of fellow boaters enjoying music in the marina clubhouse, etc.
This time of year, it surfaces just beneath my skin, waiting for an opportunity to overthrow my brain and wallow in its control over my emotions. Every summer, I know I’m one step away from being hijacked by PTSD-anxiety. And yet, today it blindsided me, walloping my gut with a sucker punch at the thought of someone I know facing what I endured during Hurricane Dorian.
The Symptoms
My chest seized, my muscles quaked, and the floodgates opened as I ugly-cried with the intensity of a daytime soap opera starlet, though I was all alone on the boat. No one to impress. This wasn’t a sympathy plea; it was my amygdala-monster that lurks within and waits for its cue to wreak havoc on my limbic system.
So, what did I do when the anxiety attack hit? How does one combat instinct that originated to improve survival, but now just interferes when there’s no real risk? We can’t just turn it off; flipping a switch would mean automatic systems like heart rate, blood pressure, breathing would stop. Not ideal. There are many modalities for pushing the reset button during an anxiety attack. I love the Three C’s tips for kids—Calm, Coping, Communication—that work for every age.
Here’s what I did in the moment.
First, I let the emotions flow. Ain’t no point in bottling that bastard of a genie. Get it all out, I say, and let the tears flush out the cortisol and other toxins.
Next, I thought of loved ones and friends who I could call. Just hearing a familiar voice can help ground me. Plus, the person on the other line is living their own life, so their topics of whatever’s going on for them can offer a moment of distraction, if not a sense of balance. I called my husband, who I knew was super busy in the middle of troubleshooting a work issue, but he stopped long enough to focus on my needs. Oh, I love that man—he’s got my back no matter what.
I continued detoxing by writing. Writing allows me to channel those emotions and make sense of them, or better yet, do something with them. This time, writing led me to a lightbulb moment that fostered levity and creativity—both fantastic weapons against anxiety (for me, at least).
The project?
Introducing the Sarcastic Sassypants Greeting Card Company. (OK, I didn’t really start a company…yet?) The thought of sending cards to friends and family for hurricane season tickled me in all the “That’s so wrong” places. Hey, I am no graphic artist, but creating these tiny works of satire empowered me. Provided a sense of taking control over my interpretation of the situation. Allowed me to say, “In your face, anxiety.”
I can’t control Mother Nature any more than anyone else on earth. Lord knows that lesson was walloped into me in 2019. But I can attempt to regain control of my experience, how I receive and react—better yet, respond—when I’m triggered. I hope you enjoy the snarky cards. And do let me know if you have any contacts for angel investors, or the booking agent for Shark Tank, ha-ha.
I hear ya, girl! And I like the cards idea!😁 Alas, I tend to bake through the days of approaching hurricanes. Stress baking! Usually things that are too rich and sweet — what is it with calories, carbs, strengthening winds and panic?!
Unlike you, I was not at my happy place during Dorian, but do understand your fears. I begin my watch at the start of June, checking my hurricane app at breakfast initially and then increasingly more often as those little Xs appear off of Africa. I went through my whole childhood completely unaware of that water between Africa and South America— how sweet it was!
I only discovered that I am a wuss about thunderstorms when I reached my 20s and moved to the Connecticut River, where line squalls pop up regularly in June. Hate those! But I became a longer-distance cruiser in my 40s and my fear level also racheted up. It was pretty much a late Summer through Fall wariness. I would actually sigh with relief when word reached me of early snowfalls coming to the river valley.
As you know, global warming lit a match. The storms are now earlier, more frequent and bigger. I might have to try canning this season. Keep on writing, my friend.
Ooph, yes, bring on ALL the chocolate at times of stress, I say. Healthy? No. Do I care at that moment? Also no. Perhaps you’re onto something with the canning idea, though. Let me know how that goes. Thanks for reading and supporting my writing habit, you little enabler, you.
Hi Wendy
Anxiety is real. Although I have never been diagnosed, I do always get anxious in any unknown situation- things I can’t control. Solo travel, which I love, is one of those ( especially at age almost 74) , deciding to cut back to working only 5 days a month, and trying to figure out how to have enough $$ for the rest of my life. I think you and Christopher are very brave- I love being on the water- but I know that the ocean and weather are things we can’t control. Be safe and carry on! You two inspire me!
Thanks for reading and those words of encouragement, Sharon. I don’t know of anyone who is totally immune to anxiety — it’s hardwired in us for survival — but not everyone experiences it chronically or recurringly. But, we have tools to overcome it. Yay us!