Reorienting After Disruption: A Therapist's Reflection on the 2025 Ice Storm

You came back to campus. Got your rhythm going. Then everything froze—literally.

This kind of interruption does more than cancel classes. It interrupts orientation: that inner sense of "I know where I am, what's expected of me, and how to move forward." It's the feeling of having your feet under you, even when things are hard. When you lose that grounding before it's fully established, it can feel profoundly disorienting.

When that orientation is lost before it's ever fully established, the body often responds with fatigue, irritability, anxiety, or emotional flatness. These aren't signs of pathology or weakness. They're self-protection. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it's designed to do when the ground feels unstable. It's trying to keep you safe when the familiar rhythms that usually anchor you have been disrupted.

Add to that the reality that we were all in the same storm, but not in the same position. Different access to warmth, power, transportation, food, and support meant different levels of strain, often invisible but very real. Some of you were without power for days. Some of you were isolated, far from home, trying to manage on your own. Some of you had family you were worried about. The storm didn't affect everyone equally, and that matters.

The storm created immediate crises—no power, frozen pipes, roads you couldn't drive. But for many students, it also exposed struggles that had been held together by structure and momentum. Anxiety that had been managed through staying busy. Grief that hadn't had space because there was always the next thing to do. Burnout that had been pushed through because stopping felt impossible. When the busyness stops, what's underneath often rises to the surface. And that can feel overwhelming.

Sometimes disruption is an invitation: to rest, to reassess, to notice what we've been carrying. It can be an invitation to tend to what's been neglected, to make space for what's been pushed down. Not because you have to have it all figured out, but because you deserve to be cared for in the process. You deserve support, not just survival.

Reorientation often looks quieter than you'd expect. It's not about immediately bouncing back or catching up on everything you missed. Instead, it might look like slowing down instead of immediately trying to catch up. Returning to one familiar rhythm—your morning coffee, a walk around campus, a phone call with someone who grounds you. Releasing the pressure to be back to 100% right away. Staying connected instead of powering through alone. And asking yourself, "What would help me feel a little more grounded right now?" instead of "What should I do?"

Moments like this ask an important question: What happens when the systems that keep you moving suddenly pause? What do you notice when the noise quiets down?

Therapy is one place where that question can be held without rushing toward answers. It's a space to stabilize, make meaning, and re-orient when life feels unsteady. A place where you don't have to perform or prove anything, just show up as you are. A place where what you're carrying can be seen, named, and tended to with care.

If the past few weeks stirred more than you expected, you're not failing at college. You're not falling apart. You're responding to disruption in a very human way. And you don't have to navigate it alone.

I work with college students across Mississippi navigating anxiety, transitions, and emotional overload. Support is available, and you don't have to wait until you're falling apart to reach out. Sometimes the most important time to seek support is before things feel unmanageable