Islands in the Storm

(based on Episode 50 of Journey Beyond the Chaos)

When your child is struggling with addiction or mental health challenges, life can begin to feel unpredictable in a way that’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived it.

One minute everything is calm. You’re just going about your day.

And then suddenly something shifts.

A message arrives.
A conversation goes sideways.
Something happens that turns the whole day upside down.

And often it’s not just the event itself that creates the stress.

It’s the way it shakes the very ground you’ve been standing on.

Over time, the mind begins doing something very natural.

It starts scanning the horizon.

Waiting for the next wave.

Thinking about the next conversation… the next “what if”… the next possible crisis.

I hear mums describe this all the time.

Checking their phone more often.
Replaying conversations in their head.
Trying to anticipate what might happen next.

Before long, it can start to feel like you’re living inside a storm.

When the Mind Never Quite Switches Off

When you live with that kind of uncertainty for long enough, it quietly takes up more and more space in your mind.

Sometimes mums describe it in very practical ways.

They’ll say things like:

“I can’t seem to concentrate on anything anymore.”

They sit down to watch a show, but half their attention is still on their phone.

They start reading a book, but their mind drifts back to the last conversation with their child.

Sometimes they say,

“My head just feels full all the time… like it’s all I’m thinking about.”

And if you’re anything like me, you might be out for lunch with friends but your phone is never very far away.

Even when nothing is actually happening, the mind keeps circling.

Scanning.
Waiting.
Trying to stay one step ahead of the next problem.

Over time, that kind of vigilance becomes exhausting.

The Hidden Cost of Living in Survival Mode

Last week on the podcast, I talked about something I called the hidden cost of putting your life on hold.

In that episode, I shared a story about my mum.

After my stepdad died, her world understandably became smaller for a while. Grief does that. Life had been shaken in a way that changes everything.

We all like our lives to feel predictable. Routines give us a sense of stability.

Over time, I noticed my mum’s life slowly organising itself around a few familiar places:

Her home.
Her garden.
Her routines.

That was what she needed to begin feeling steady again.

Researchers sometimes call these “islands of certainty.”

And there’s no doubt those islands helped her through a very difficult time.

But something else slowly happened as well.

The islands that once helped her survive the storm gradually became the whole world.

Her life quietly got smaller around the things that felt safe.

And that was the hidden cost I talked about last week.

Those islands slowly became the edge of her world.

She stopped building bridges beyond them.

She stopped creating things to look forward to.
Stopped stepping into new experiences.
Stopped expanding her world again.

Because every bridge carried the possibility of unpredictability.

And when you’ve lived through something that shakes the ground beneath you, unpredictability starts to feel dangerous.

So the islands that once helped her survive became the place she stayed.

Safe.

But smaller.

That tension between safety and living fully is something I’ll come back to in another episode.

But today I want to talk about something slightly different.

When You’re Living in a Storm, Islands Matter

Because when you’re living in a constant storm of unpredictability and uncertainty — and many of you listening know exactly what that feels like — islands are not the problem.

In fact, they may be one of the most important things we have.

When things with your child feel scary…

When their safety feels uncertain…

When the worry becomes all-consuming…

Your nervous system needs somewhere to land.

Somewhere steady.

Somewhere — even for a few minutes — where your mind can step out of the storm.

Resilience research shows something really interesting about how people cope during difficult times.

People tend to do better when there are still stable anchors in their lives.

Small, predictable parts of life that remain steady, even while everything else feels uncertain.

Places where the mind knows what to expect.

Places where the nervous system can settle.

The Islands in the Storm

When I think about the mums I work with, I picture those anchors as islands in the storm.

The storm is the uncertainty around your child.

But the islands are the steady parts of your life that still exist alongside it.

They don’t stop the storm.

They don’t fix the situation with your child.

But they give you somewhere to stand.

And that matters.

Because when the nervous system doesn’t have anywhere steady to land, it stays on high alert.

Your mind keeps scanning for the next wave.

The next message.
The next problem.

Your body stays tense.

Your thoughts start circling.

Everything begins to feel urgent.

It’s almost like the storm moves inside your head.

And it’s exhausting.

But when there are small, steady moments in your day — even very ordinary ones — your nervous system receives a different signal.

For a few minutes, it can stand down.

It can settle.

Even briefly.

The Islands Are Usually Very Ordinary

The interesting thing about these islands is that they’re usually very ordinary parts of life.

They’re not dramatic life changes.

They’re not big self-improvement projects.

Most of the time, they’re simple things.

Your morning coffee.
Going to work.
Walking the dog.
Working in the garden.
Reading before bed.
Talking with a friend.
Playing with a grandchild.
Lighting a candle and having a bath.
Stepping outside in bare feet and feeling the grass beneath you.

Moments where life is simply life.

And in those moments, something subtle happens.

Your nervous system receives a signal:

Right now, in this moment, things are okay.

Even if uncertainty still exists.

Even if the storm is still out there.

For a few minutes, your mind is not scanning the horizon.

It’s simply here.

And that allows your body to settle.

When the Islands Quietly Disappear

Something interesting came up in our coaching call last week.

One of the mums was reflecting on how much mental space the situation with her child had been taking up.

Her mind kept circling the next conversation.

The next decision.

The next possible crisis.

She described waking in the early hours of the morning — that time of night when everything feels heavier — and her mind would start running.

Did I say the wrong thing yesterday?
Should I message them?
What if something has happened?

But when we slowed things down together and looked at her week, something interesting appeared.

There were actually a few small islands already there.

She had been reading before bed.

And when she woke in the night and couldn’t sleep, she would pick up her book instead of lying there with her mind spinning.

Those small, quiet moments gave her mind somewhere else to go.

Somewhere calmer.

Somewhere steady.

But she also noticed something else.

Some of the islands that once existed in her life had quietly disappeared.

Not intentionally.

Just gradually.

And this happens so easily.

The storm gets louder…

And the islands slowly disappear.

Not because they don’t matter.

But because survival starts taking up all the room.

Rebuilding the Islands

This is why much of the work we do inside Beyond the Chaos begins with helping the nervous system settle first.

Because sometimes the work doesn’t begin by fixing the storm.

Sometimes it begins by rebuilding the islands.

Not all at once.

Just gently placing a few steady pieces of life back into your days.

A walk.

A book.

A Pilates class.

A coffee with a friend.

Small things.

Ordinary things.

But powerful — because they give your nervous system somewhere to land.

And when the nervous system begins to settle, something shifts.

You’re no longer standing right in the middle of the storm.

You have something steady beneath your feet.

And that can change more than you might realise.

Because when you have somewhere steady to stand…

You start to stand differently inside the storm.

Not because the storm has disappeared.

But because you are no longer being pulled around by every wave.

You have somewhere to stand.