After the First 72 Hours: Why Recovery Often Feels Harder and What Actually Helps

The first 72 hours after a disaster are intense.

There is noise, urgency, movement. Sirens, phones ringing, people checking in. Decisions are made quickly. Adrenaline carries you through. You do what needs to be done because there is no other option.

And then the days roll on.

The immediate danger passes. Media attention fades. Support crews move on. People stop asking quite as often how you’re going.

That is often when the real struggle begins

This blog is for that stage after the 72-hour mark.
When you’re back home, or still displaced.
When the exhaustion settles into your bones.
When emotions arrive without warning.
When you catch yourself thinking, “Why am I not okay yet?”

Here’s a truth most people don’t hear clearly enough:

Recovery doesn’t begin when the danger passes.
It begins when the body finally slows down enough to feel everything it’s been holding together.

During a disaster, your nervous system shifts into survival mode. Fight, flight, freeze. Your body prioritises action over reflection, function over feeling. That state is useful in a crisis but it isn’t meant to be permanent.

Afterwards, your system doesn’t simply switch off.

It stays on high alert, scanning for threat, bracing for the next hit. That can show up as deep tiredness, irritability, poor sleep, brain fog, anxiety, restlessness or emotional numbness. Some people feel flat. Others feel overwhelmed. Many feel both, sometimes within the same hour.

None of that means you’re weak.

It means your system has been under strain.

This is where the idea of Capacity Before Crisis becomes critical not just before disasters, but after them.

So often, people are encouraged to “push through,” “stay strong,” or “get back to normal.” But capacity isn’t rebuilt by pushing harder. It’s rebuilt by stabilising the basics.

One thing at a time.
Food before forms.
Rest before big decisions.
Connection before isolation.

You don’t need to fix your whole life. You don’t need to have a five-year plan or a perfect recovery strategy.

You need to do the next doable thing.

That might be eating something simple, even if you don’t feel hungry.
Drinking water.
Sitting down instead of standing.
Writing a short list instead of holding everything in your head.
Letting someone else make a decision for you, just for today.

These small actions are not insignificant. They are how capacity is slowly rebuilt.

Recovery is not linear, no matter how much we wish it were.

You can have a good day followed by a heavy one.
You can feel grateful for help and angry about what you’ve lost.
You can feel strong in the morning and completely flat by afternoon.

That isn’t failure.
That is human recovery.

One of the biggest traps after disaster is judging yourself for how you’re coping. Comparing your recovery to someone else’s. Wondering why others seem to be “moving on” faster.

But recovery is not a race. And it’s not a straight line.

Using the Unbreakable Wheel of Wellbeing after disaster isn’t about finding perfect balance. Balance is unrealistic when life has been tipped upside down.

It’s about movement.

Small, gentle movement around the wheel:

• Physical: eat something, drink water, rest when you can

• Mental: write things down, simplify decisions, reduce information overload

• Emotional: name what you’re feeling without trying to fix it

• Social: talk to someone safe, even briefly

• Practical: tackle one task, not ten

• Purpose: remind yourself that surviving this already took strength

You don’t have to do all of these. You don’t even have to do them well.

You just have to keep moving, slowly, kindly.

And if the load starts to feel too heavy reach out.

Support exists because no one is meant to carry this alone. Whether it’s a friend, a health professional, a community service or a helpline, asking for support is not a sign you’re failing. It’s a sign your system is asking for backup.

If you’re past the 72-hour mark and wondering why it’s still hard, hear this clearly:

You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re not doing recovery wrong.

You are rebuilding capacity after strain.

And that takes time.

Be patient with your nervous system. Be kind to your body. Focus on the next doable step, not the whole road ahead.

Recovery doesn’t announce itself loudly. Often, it shows up quietly in moments of rest, in small choices, in the decision to keep going gently rather than forcefully.

That is not weakness.

That is resilience being rebuilt from the inside out.