Grief Doesn’t Follow a Straight Line: Understanding Recovery After Disaster

One of the biggest frustrations I’m seeing in disaster recovery right now is this:

People are confused about how they’re feeling.

They tell me, “I should be past this.”
Or, “Why am I still so angry?”
Or, “I thought I was doing okay… and now I feel like I’ve gone backwards.”

We’ve been taught to think about grief as five neat steps:
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression.
Acceptance.

Like a staircase you climb.

But when your home, business, farm or community has been hit by disaster, it doesn’t play out like that. Not even close.

You might feel strong and focused for a week, ticking boxes, filling out forms, helping neighbours.
Then suddenly you’re angry at everything.
Then exhausted.
Then flat.
Then hopeful again.

And that back and forth is confusing.

The truth is, the “five stages of grief” model was never meant to be a rigid roadmap. Even its originator, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, acknowledged it wasn’t linear. Yet in disaster recovery, many people still measure themselves against it like a checklist.

If I’ve moved through anger, I shouldn’t go back there.

If I’ve accepted it, I shouldn’t still feel devastated.

But that’s not how trauma works.

What the Research Tells Us

According to Phoenix Australia, recovery after disaster is rarely predictable. Emotional responses fluctuate depending on stress load, exhaustion, reminders of the event, and the practical pressures people are carrying.

They describe recovery as something that unfolds over time influenced by social support, safety, financial stress, physical fatigue, and ongoing triggers. It’s dynamic. It changes. It loops.

Trauma specialist Kate Brady speaks powerfully about this too. She reminds us that our nervous system doesn’t operate on a neat emotional schedule. After trauma, our body and brain remain alert to threat. Triggers like hot winds, smoke in the air, insurance letters, or even a date on the calendar can reactivate that stress response long after the event.

So when the hot wind picks up and you feel your chest tighten again, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed.

It means your nervous system remembers.

And memory lives in the body.

Why It Feels Like You’ve Gone Backwards

In disaster recovery, people often experience something called oscillation.

You move forward, making progress, rebuilding, feeling hopeful.
Then something knocks you sideways.

Paperwork piles up.
A contractor doesn’t show.
Rain delays fencing.
Another community nearby is hit.

And suddenly you’re back in anger. Or grief. Or exhaustion.

That doesn’t mean you’re weak. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It doesn’t mean you’re doing recovery wrong.

It means recovery isn’t a straight road.

Phoenix Australia talks about “anniversary reactions” and trigger responses, predictable spikes in distress linked to reminders. These can happen months or even years later. Fatigue amplifies them. Financial stress amplifies them. Isolation amplifies them.

When your capacity drops, your emotions feel bigger.

And in regional and rural communities, especially, I see people judging themselves harshly for that.

“I should be stronger than this.”

But strength is not the absence of emotion.

Strength is continuing to move, even when the path curves.

The Hidden Pressure to Be “Okay”

There’s another layer to this.

In disaster-impacted communities, there’s often an unspoken expectation to get on with it. To rebuild. To be grateful you survived. To stay positive.

And while optimism has its place, forced positivity can invalidate the very real complexity of recovery.

You can be grateful to be alive and still devastated.

You can be rebuilding and still grieving.

You can be functioning and still deeply fatigued.

Those emotional contradictions are normal.

Kate Brady often speaks about self-compassion as a protective factor in trauma recovery. Not self pity. Not avoidance. But the ability to say:

“This is hard. And it makes sense that it’s hard.”

That simple sentence changes the internal conversation.

Confusion Is Not a Sign You’re Failing

One of the biggest things I want people to understand is this:

Being confused about your emotions is not a sign something is wrong.

It’s a sign you’re human.

After disaster, your brain is trying to recalibrate safety. Your body is managing stress hormones. Your mind is processing loss, not just of buildings or income, but of certainty, routine, identity, and future plans.

Grief in disaster isn’t only about what burned or flooded.

It’s about what changed.

And change doesn’t process in straight lines.

You can sit in one emotional space for days and feel stuck. Then take a leap forward. Then slide backwards again when a reminder hits.

That slide backwards isn’t a reset to zero.

It’s a loop in the system.

And loops are part of healing.

Be Gentle With Yourself

If you’re reading this and thinking, “That’s me,” I want you to hear this clearly:

Nothing is wrong with you.

Being frustrated is normal.
Being tired is normal.
Being hopeful one day and overwhelmed the next is normal.

Recovery isn’t about moving neatly from denial to acceptance and staying there forever.

It’s about building capacity, physically, emotionally, socially, so that when the waves come, you can ride them without drowning.

That might mean:

• Reducing your load where possible.

• Talking to someone who understands trauma.

• Strengthening connection with community.

• Allowing yourself to rest without guilt.

• Recognising triggers instead of judging them.

The research backs this up. Support, connection, practical stability and self-compassion are some of the strongest predictors of recovery outcomes. Not toughness. Not suppression. Not pretending you’re fine.

A Different Way to Measure Progress

Instead of asking, “Why am I still angry?”
Try asking, “What is this anger protecting?”

Instead of saying, “I’ve gone backwards.”
Try saying, “Something has been triggered, what do I need right now?”

Instead of “I should be over this.”
Try, “Recovery takes time.”

When we shift the internal narrative, we reduce the secondary suffering, the shame about the feeling.

And shame slows recovery far more than emotion ever will.

I’ve walked alongside enough disaster-impacted communities to know this: recovery is not linear. It loops. It circles. It revisits. It recalibrates.

But with support, compassion and capacity, those loops get wider. The intensity softens. The recovery stabilises.

You’re not broken.

You’re responding normally to an abnormal event.

Be gentle with yourself.

Recovery isn’t a straight road, but you are still moving forward, even on the bends.