I didn't realize how on edge my nervous system had been until I returned to Mérida.
After everything that happened during the earthquake in Panama, I knew I needed rest. What I hadn't fully understood was how long it might take to feel settled again.
Fortunately, I had a friend in Mérida who offered to pick me up at the airport. I'd made arrangements to cover the gas and tolls, but he wouldn't accept anything for his time. Instead, he welcomed me with a hug, took one of my suitcases, and immediately suggested we stop for food.
After clearing customs and walking out to find a friendly face waiting for me, I can't adequately describe how good that felt.
We drove to a taco stand in Cancún that he knew and loved. He suggested I try the quesadilla, and I happily agreed. What I didn't know until afterward was that he'd asked them to make my tortilla with blue corn. They made each tortilla by hand and cooked it right there on the spot. I ate my quesadilla while drinking my favorite jamaica, hibiscus tea, and thoroughly enjoyed every bite.
When I finished, he asked if I wanted to visit a cenote before we continued to Mérida. As tempting as that sounded, my flight had been delayed, and we were already behind schedule. The drive would take about three and a half hours, and we also had the time difference between Cancún and Mérida to consider.
So we continued on, catching up and philosophizing along the way.
Somewhere during that drive, I began to feel the simple comfort of being with someone who was happy to see me, who wanted to share a little of his world with me, and who wasn't expecting anything in return.
When we arrived in Mérida, he asked if I'd like to see one of the houses he was renovating before putting it on the rental market. I said yes.
He needed to check the work one of his contractors had completed before approving payment, so he quickly walked me through the house. It was simply furnished, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an outdoor patio. It was cute, and I could tell my friend was proud of it. As we walked through, he told me it was the house his grandparents had bought and lived in throughout their marriage.
I found myself thinking about that as we left. A house can be so much more than walls and rooms. It can hold decades of memories, family history, and the lives of people who came before us.
After locking up, he drove me the last few blocks to my Airbnb. He helped carry my luggage inside and made sure I was comfortable with the place I'd chosen. It was cozy, conveniently located, and exactly what I needed.
I needed to sleep. I needed to decompress. I needed time.
When your body hasn't caught up with the fact that you're safe
In the days after returning to Mérida, I began noticing just how unsettled I still felt.
Even though I was no longer in Panama, my body sometimes seemed convinced that the ground was moving beneath me. I'd feel a sensation of swaying or movement when everything around me was still.
I learned that some people experience lingering symptoms after a major earthquake, including heightened alertness and a sensation of movement or dizziness. I also experienced pain in my calves, something that can happen after repeatedly evacuating down stairwells.
It was unsettling to realize that even after I'd reached safety, my body was still responding as though the danger hadn't entirely passed.
I've stayed in touch with two of the women I met in Panama during the earthquake. They're both still navigating the aftermath. One, who remains in the building where I was staying, told me she experiences vertigo whenever she's inside. The other has moved to David and says she hasn't felt much since relocating.
Their experiences remind me that an earthquake doesn't necessarily end when the shaking stops. For some people, the uncertainty continues long afterward. There's the physical adjustment, the emotional aftermath, and the challenge of feeling safe again in a place that once felt familiar.
I'm grateful to be in Mérida, with friends nearby and the freedom to rest. But I've also been giving myself permission not to rush the process of feeling like myself again.
What remains when the ground shifts
There's another part of an experience like this that doesn't get talked about as much: what happens inside us when we're confronted with the possibility that we might not make it through something.
When you're in a moment of genuine uncertainty, your thoughts can become very clear. You start asking yourself questions you might otherwise avoid.
Am I happy with my life? Have I been spending my time on the things that matter most to me? Are there people I wish I'd made more time for? Is there something I've been putting off because I've assumed there will always be more time?
Afterward, you become more aware of the people who reach out, who check on you, and who make an effort to stay connected. Experiences like this can bring your relationships into a different light.
They make us more aware of the connections that sustain us, the people who show up when life becomes uncertain, and the relationships we may want to give more attention to. I'm still reflecting on what that means for me.
Sometimes the most meaningful gestures are also the simplest. A friend waiting at the airport. A hug. A meal prepared with care. Someone making sure you get home safely.
Those moments may not seem extraordinary to the person offering them. But when you've been through something frightening, they can mean more than the person realizes.
Learning to rest
This week, my life in Mérida has been quieter than usual.
I've been catching up with friends I met during my time here last winter. I've been getting reacquainted with familiar streets and settling into my temporary home. Mostly, I've been resting.
I'm learning that rest isn't simply the absence of activity. Sometimes it's giving yourself room to process what has happened without expecting yourself to immediately move on. It's allowing your body to settle and your thoughts to find their place.
I'm not entirely sure how long that will take, and I'm trying not to make it another thing I feel I need to accomplish.
With Día de Muertos approaching, I'm hoping to find some local celebrations to attend. I'm looking forward to experiencing Mérida during this special time of year and seeing how the city honors the people who came before us.
For now, I'm grateful to be here. Grateful for the friends who have welcomed me back, for the kindness I've encountered, and for the opportunity to slow down and take care of myself.
The earthquake in Panama was an experience I never expected to have. I know I'll continue thinking about it for a long time, and I suspect some of its lessons will take longer to understand.
But for this moment, I'm allowing myself to be right where I am.
Resting. Reconnecting. Finding my way back to stillness.
Continue exploring
If this reflection resonated with you, you might also appreciate When the Earth Moved, a journal about my experience during the earthquake in Panama and the moments of uncertainty, connection, and kindness that followed.
[Read: When the Earth Moved →]
If you'd like to follow along as these experiences continue to shape my artwork and writing, I'd love to have you join me. Sign up for my mailing list to receive behind-the-scenes glimpses of my paintings, my travels, and the stories that inspire them, along with access to view all 30 watercolor paintings in my Reckonings with Unconsciousness series.
Support the work
If you've been enjoying my writing and the stories I share here, I've recently added a way to support that part of my work, too. Even a $5 contribution helps me keep creating these Artist Journals.
Your support means a lot to me and makes it possible for me to continue sharing these stories and reflections with you.