The Moment Everything Changed
The ground beneath me rumbled like a beast waking from its slumber.
I was sitting on my bed, laptop balanced precariously, trying to work in the only room with a fan to escape the suffocating heat. Suddenly, a deep, grumbling roar emerged from what felt like the centre of the earth—and then, everything shifted.
The entire house began to rock violently, as if it had been tossed onto treacherous seas. Through the window, the land outside tilted at impossible angles, swaying what must have been seventy degrees in either direction. The pool defied gravity as the water surged into 10-foot waves, losing two-thirds of its contents as the water slammed back down.
Inside the house, chaos erupted. Shelves and bookcases collapsed, glass shattered with deafening force, furniture catapulted across the floor like it had a life of its own, smashing into walls and windows. The massive tilt in the house caused the blade of the fan to embed itself in the ceiling.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it was over. From zero to one thousand in half a second and back again in another. I sat frozen, trying to comprehend what had just happened. With earthquakes, there’s no warning—no ominous sky, no advancing flames, no sirens. Just an instant, unexpected upheaval that reminds you of the power of Mother Nature.
Stepping into the Aftermath
I stepped out of my room to survey the damage, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. The devastation could be seen in the faces of neighbours and workers from nearby homes all gathered on the street. Their expressions mirrored my own: shock, disbelief, fear, and the physical toll of what had just occurred. Some were injured, thrown about during the earthquake’s violent tremors.
Thanks to my wonderful doctor sister, I had a fully stocked first aid kit—something I never imagined I’d need in such a way. I knelt beside people, hands trembling but steady enough to clean cuts, bandage wounds, and offer what little relief I could. Most injuries were minor, thankfully, though one person needed urgent care at the hospital. We were all shaken, hearts pounding, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The sheer aggression of the earthquake—its intensity, its ferocity—still takes my breath away. Even now, it feels impossible to fully grasp how something so sudden and violent could turn our world upside down in mere seconds.
And then came the silence. No power, no water, no connection to the outside world. Alone and slightly out of town, I stood in the quiet chaos of my surroundings, grappling with a desperate feeling of isolation.
The Human Impact: Lives Upturned
The human impact of this earthquake has been devastating. Lives have been lost - people caught in collapsing buildings, families left to mourn loved ones taken too soon. For many, their homes and/or businesses are reduced to rubble. A month later, the town is still closed, roads are blocked, thousands of people are displaced, businesses are unable to operate, and some areas still have no water or power. This has left countless people struggling to rebuild their lives amidst immense uncertainty.
Adding to the strain are the aftershocks, which come daily—each one a fresh jolt to already frayed nerves. These are not minor tremors; they are strong enough to be considered full earthquakes in other parts of the world. Each time the earth begins to rumble with that low, ominous noise and the ground starts to move underneath you, fear is palpable. Will this be another big one? The question hangs in the air, unspoken but felt by everyone. Our nervous systems are stretched thin, worn down by the constant state of alertness. It’s as though we’re all holding our breath, bracing for what might come next.
Yet, amidst all this devastation, I have been deeply moved by the courage of the Ni-Vanuatu people. Their strength shines through in even the darkest moments. They band together, helping one another with quiet determination and an unwavering sense of community. I’ve seen people sharing food, offering shelter, and comforting one another, even while their own lives are in disarray.
What has struck me most is their ability to find hope and maintain a sense of calm amidst this chaos. They carry an innate understanding that while nature can destroy, it can also nurture and heal.
In the face of unimaginable loss, they demonstrate an unshakable belief in their ability to rebuild, not just structures, but their sense of community and connection. It’s a kind of resilience that I find both humbling and inspiring.
What I’ve Learned So Far
What surprised me most was the overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness. Being here, without the comfort of people I’ve known for years—my people—added a weight to the experience that I wasn’t prepared for. While I’ve met some lovely, supportive individuals, including an incredible neighbour (thanks Makkah) who reached out when I needed it most, it’s not the same as being surrounded by the steady presence of those who’ve been part of your life for so long.
The practical reality of the situation made this isolation even more profound. With no communication to the outside world for what felt like an eternity, I was completely cut off from the people and connections that have been my anchor. I felt so far away from everything and everyone that has shaped and supported me. That distance was more than geographical—it was deeply emotional, and it made me realise just how much resilience can be tied to the strength we draw from our relationships.
Through this, I’ve come to see that resilience isn’t just about enduring hardship; it’s about how we respond when our usual sources of support are unavailable. And in those moments, self-compassion becomes vital. Allowing myself to feel the weight of that loneliness without judgment, to acknowledge my vulnerability, and to remind myself that it’s okay to feel this way—that was an important part of finding strength. It isn’t always about being tough; sometimes, it’s about being kind to yourself when everything else feels impossibly hard.
Choosing Our Response
In the aftermath of the earthquake, I found myself facing a familiar challenge: practising what I preach. Life is full of these out-of-the-blue, uncertain moments that shake us to our core. For me, this was an "earthquake moment"—literal and figurative.
We know that we can’t control when or how these “earthquake moments” strike, but we can control how we choose to respond. This is where my Strong Bucket Formula in the past has become not just a teaching point but a lifeline. It’s a framework designed to rebuild us after life’s challenges (personal and professional), helping us replenish ourselves to move forward with strength, optimism and intention.
As I stood in the wreckage, I realised that this was my moment to lean into the very principles I’ve taught others. This wasn’t just theory; it was time to draw on these practices in a deeply personal way and remind myself that resilience is a choice—a series of decisions we make, even in the face of chaos.
When the Strong Bucket Formula Feels Impossible
But straight away, I knew that I couldn’t apply my Strong Bucket Formula—not at that moment. I was not in the headspace for the five principles that I’ve relied on, taught, and championed in countless situations. My nervous system was overloaded, my environment was in chaos, and my mind was in pure survival mode, not rebuild mode, and that distinction felt critical.
This realisation was a powerful lesson for me. Whether it’s a natural disaster, the loss of a loved one, divorce, redundancy, bankruptcy, a cyber security breach or any other seismic life event, we can’t rush into rebuilding. We need to acknowledge the need to simply get through those initial moments of shock and upheaval. And that’s okay.
This is why my formula would not work initially:
1. Be Still:
This first principle calls for calm and grounding, but my entire body felt electrified. My nervous system was jittery, humming with what felt like constant static. I tried belly breathing—a technique that has settled me in the past—but it just didn’t work. I couldn’t be still, no matter how much I tried.
2. Find Joy:
This principle is about shifting your mindset, and looking for moments of happiness, no matter how small. But in those days of devastation and isolation, joy was nowhere to be found. I felt so desperately alone that nothing around me brought even the faintest smile.
3. Chill Out:
The idea of unwinding or relaxing was laughable in the face of reality. My house was a wreck—glass and debris everywhere—and it took me seventy to eighty hours of cleaning just to bring it back to a liveable state. There wasn’t a single moment to “chill out.”
4. Live Life:
This principle is about embracing life fully, planning, and creating meaningful experiences. But in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, life felt like it had been put on hold indefinitely. There was no space for anything beyond the daily grind of cleaning, getting fresh water, eating food that required no cooking and trying to sleep in the oppressive heat.
5. Connect More:
Last but not least, connection plays a big part in dealing with challenges, but in those first days, it was utterly impossible. With communication lines down, it was over thirty hours before I could even let my sister and husband know I was safe. For weeks, reaching out to anyone was an uphill battle. Isolation was absolute.
Going from Survival to Rebuilding
What I learned in those moments was that resilience isn’t always about following the formula perfectly. It’s about progression, about allowing yourself the time and space to transition from survival mode to rebuilding. For me, that took time. It took ten days or two weeks (it’s all a blur, I can’t remember exactly), but I eventually found my footing. Slowly, I began tapping into the principles I know so well—the ones I’ve taught to leaders and teams around the world.
Little by little, I began to apply my formula to repatch all those rusty holes in my resilience bucket, As I have always said, this formula can be applied in many ways – it’s about finding what’s right for our specific lives. This is what I was eventually able to do after that disaster, which helped me to get back to “me” slowly but surely:
1. Be Still:
As I mentioned, at first, stillness was impossible but when the initial chaos settled, I found a simple yet profound way to bring a sense of calm and safety into my mornings. Each day, after waking, I set a timer with bird chirping sounds for fifteen minutes. I learned that birds only chirp when they feel safe—a fact that resonated deeply with me after experiencing the physical and emotional unsafety of the earthquake. Lying in bed, listening to the birds, became my way of signalling to my brain and body that the day could begin with safety and stillness. It’s a small ritual, but it has made a big difference in grounding me and keeping me calmer.
2. Find Joy:
In the days after the earthquake, I realised I was stuck in the “gap,” as described in the book The Gap and the Gain. All I could see were the things that were missing, broken, difficult or impossible. It was draining, and I knew I needed to shift my focus. I had to start looking for the good, no matter how small, and seek out moments of optimism, hope, and joy.
One such moment came when I was down to my last half-litre of water. The shops were still shut, there was no running water, I was sweating like never before because of the heat, and I felt worried about my dire water situation. Then, as if on cue, the heavens opened. Rain poured from the sky in a glorious, life-giving torrent. I ran outside, placing every pot and empty bottle I had to collect the water streaming off my roof. I then stood in the downpour, giggling, washing off days of sweat and exhaustion. That rain was more than just water; it was joy, relief, and renewal all at once. It reminded me that joy doesn’t always come from big, extraordinary moments. Sometimes, it’s found in the simplest acts—like letting the rain wash away the weight of the world.
3. Chill Out:
Once my house was finally back in order, I could take a breath—literally—and give myself permission to relax. For me, chilling out has always been about escaping into a good book. I found my stash of novels, picked a page-turner I knew would captivate me, and stretched out on the couch.
There’s nothing quite like getting lost in a story to help you switch off from the chaos around you. As I read, I could feel my nervous system settling, my thoughts quieting, and the tension I’d been carrying for weeks beginning to ease. It wasn’t just about the book; it was about creating a small pocket of peace amidst the uncertainty. That act of letting go, even for a little while, made a world of difference.
4. Live Life:
Once my husband arrived on the first plane into Vanuatu, I felt a shift. Together, we were able to address immediate concerns—making the house safer and more secure—but beyond that, we started planning for how we wanted to live our lives this year.
There’s nothing like a massive earthquake to shift your perspective and remind you of what’s truly important. Sitting down with my husband to map out what we wanted to do together was a deeply grounding moment. It was about more than logistics; it was about embracing the life we have and being intentional with our time.
On a professional level, this principle also pushed me to reconsider how I approach some of my work commitments this year. As someone fortunate enough to travel the world speaking on stages at conferences, I decided to add extra days to those trips. While exploring the cities I’m so fortunate to visit, I’ll be living this principle—truly embracing life and making the most of these opportunities to see and experience more of the world.
5. Connect More:
After weeks of disconnection, I finally began to reconnect with the people who matter most. As communications were slowly restored, I found immense comfort in reaching out, hearing familiar voices, seeing smiling faces in Zoom catchups and rebuilding those vital connections.
This experience has reinforced how important it is to nurture our relationships, even in small ways. Us humans are tribal - we operate better when we are part of a community—showing up for each other, listening, and finding strength in shared experiences makes a palpable difference. That reconnection became a source of healing for me, reminding me that even when we feel isolated, we’re never truly alone.
Acknowledging the Wobbliness
As I reflect on this journey, I want to be honest: I’m still pretty wobbly. There are days when I feel stronger, more grounded, and ready to tackle whatever comes next. And then there are days when it takes all my intentionality to apply the five principles and keep moving forward.
But here’s what I’ve come to understand—this wobbliness is normal. It’s part of the process. Resilience isn’t about being unshakeable; it’s about navigating those ups and downs with self-compassion and a commitment to taking one step at a time, even on the hardest days.
Gratitude and Hope
One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from the people of Vanuatu is their remarkable ability to face adversity without a trace of self-pity. There’s no “woe is me” here—only quiet determination, a deep sense of community, and a shared hope for a brighter future.
I feel incredibly fortunate—not for the earthquake, of course, but for the opportunity to witness and learn from the people around me. Every day, I’m reminded of what resilience truly looks like: it’s in the small, deliberate steps forward. It’s in the way people rebuild their lives, bit by bit, with grace and strength.
Port Vila has a long road ahead before things feel “normal” again. Businesses, homes, and lives will take time to recover. But the spirit here is unbreakable. Everyone is doing their very best, taking tiny steps forward, and making purposeful choices.
That’s what resilience is all about—it’s not about grand gestures or instant fixes. It’s about those choice points we face every day. We choose to do the little things that help us, that inch us forward, and that collectively create a path to healing and growth.
As I take my own small steps forward, I carry with me the lessons I’ve learned here, the strength I’ve witnessed, and the hope that even in the hardest times, we all have the capacity to rebuild and create a brighter future.
I've experienced some of the most rewarding and challenging moments of my life here in Vanuatu, each of which has shaped me into a better person – and for that, I am deeply grateful.
If this story resonated with you, and you believe these insights could inspire your team or audience, I’d love to have a conversation. Whether it’s sharing my experiences or exploring practical strategies for navigating challenges, I’d be honoured to bring this message to your next conference or workplace event. Let’s connect and explore how we can create meaningful impact together.
