Dear Editor,

Months have passed since Hurricane Melissa tore across Jamaica, leaving behind a trail of damaged homes, uprooted trees, and disrupted lives.

On the surface, things may seem to be returning to normal. Roads have been cleared. Businesses have reopened. Social media timelines are no longer filled with videos of raging winds and flooded streets. But beneath that visible recovery lies something far less obvious — and far more complex: our mental health.

In Jamaica, resilience is often worn like a badge of honour. We pride ourselves on being strong, adaptable, and able to “tek weh wi self” no matter what life throws at us. But resilience, while powerful, can sometimes mask deeper emotional wounds that go unaddressed. Hurricane Melissa didn’t just damage infrastructure, it disrupted a sense of safety, stability, and control, and those are not easily rebuilt.

For many Jamaicans, the weeks immediately after the hurricane were about survival: finding food, securing shelter, checking on family members, and navigating power outages and water shortages. In those moments, there is no time to process fear or grief. The body goes into survival mode. Adrenaline carries you through.

But what happens when the adrenaline fades?

This is when the emotional aftermath begins to surface: anxiety that shows up as restlessness or irritability; trouble sleeping, even when the lights are back on; and a constant sense of unease when the rain starts to fall again. For some, it’s more subtle: a lack of motivation, feeling disconnected, or emotionally numb. For others, it’s heavier: flashbacks, panic, or a lingering sense of loss. But many of these experiences go unspoken.

In Jamaican culture, mental health is still a topic surrounded by stigma. It’s not uncommon to hear phrases like “Just pray about it,” “Be strong!” or “Others have it worse.” While these responses often come from a place of care, they can unintentionally silence people who are struggling. They create the impression that emotional pain is something to suppress rather than address.

But the truth is trauma doesn’t disappear just because we ignore it. Consider the mother who is still trying to rebuild her home while managing the emotional needs of her children, the small business owner who reopened but is quietly battling the stress of financial loss, or the young adult who experienced the hurricane as his/her first real encounter with disaster and now feels a persistent sense of uncertainty about the future.

These are not isolated experiences. They are shared realities.

There is also a unique layer to this conversation when we consider Jamaica’s socio-economic landscape. Not everyone had the same resources to recover. Some communities were hit harder than others, and the gap between those who could quickly rebuild and those who are still struggling can deepen feelings of frustration, helplessness, and even resentment.

Mental health, in this context, is not just an individual issue, it’s a community issue. So where do we go from here?

First, we have to start by acknowledging that healing is not linear. Just because the hurricane is over doesn’t mean the impact is. It’s okay if you’re not back to normal. In fact, there may be a new normal that looks different from what existed before.

Second, we need to create space for conversations — real ones — not just the quick “Yuh good?” exchanges, but deeper check-ins with friends, family, and even ourselves. Asking questions like: How are you really coping? What has this experience been like for you? What do you need right now?

These conversations don’t require professional training — just presence and empathy.

At the same time, access to professional mental health support needs to be part of the equation. Whether it’s counselling, therapy, or community-based support groups, there should be avenues for people to process what they’ve experienced. And just as importantly, we need to normalise using those services. Seeking help should not be seen as weakness, but as a proactive step towards healing.

There’s also an opportunity here for leaders — both at the community and national level — to take mental health more seriously in disaster recovery planning. Rebuilding physical infrastructure is critical, but so is addressing the psychological impact. Schools, workplaces, and community organisations can play a role by incorporating mental health awareness and support into their recovery efforts.

Another important aspect is how we, as individuals, care for ourselves in the aftermath. This doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be as simple as maintaining routines, getting enough rest, staying connected to others, and allowing yourself to feel your emotions without judgment. For some, it may involve journalling, prayer, or spending time in nature. For others, it might mean limiting exposure to distressing news or social media.

There is no one-size-fits-all approach, but there is value in being intentional.

It’s also worth recognising the strength that has carried many Jamaicans through this period. Communities came together. Neighbours helped neighbours. Strangers became support systems. That collective spirit is something to hold on to, not just in moments of crisis, but in everyday life.

However, strength should not come at the expense of vulnerability. We can be strong and still acknowledge that we’re hurting. We can be resilient and still need support. These things are not mutually exclusive.

Hurricane Melissa may no longer dominate the headlines, but its impact is still unfolding in quieter, more personal ways. The real question is whether we, as a society, are willing to pay attention to those invisible effects, because rebuilding Jamaica is not just about fixing what was broken, its about healing what was shaken.

Courtanae Heslop

courtanaewrites@gmail.com