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Ritual in Disaster Preparedness

From Christy da Rosa

When thinking about disaster preparedness, many may be familiar with that sinking feeling in your stomach or ache in your jaw—the paralyzing worry of not doing enough and having too much to do. Growing up in the rural south impacted by a multitude of events—hurricanes, ice storms, droughts, and heat—disaster preparedness was a regular topic within my family. But looking back to my childhood, preparedness wasn’t presented to me through a lens of fear. Instead, it was an annual family ritual that, looking back now, fostered curiosity, community, and practicality in times of crisis.

I’d love to share my family’s ritual around our 72-hour kits. These kits were simple backpacks filled with necessities for any disruptive event. My kit contained what many think of when visualizing emergency to-go bags (e.g., food, water, medication for my asthma and allergies, basic first-aid supplies, a flashlight) but it also contained personal items that mattered to me as a child. When I repacked my kit, my parents made sure I tucked in something purely for comfort—sometimes a Pikachu, other times a game, or even letters to my future self. My kit, along with our other preparation, gave me knowledge of and confidence about what to do if I had to suddenly leave my home.

About once a year, we would gather in the living room to update our kits. I can still feel the excitement of those moments. There was laughter and mischief when we’d try on each other’s jeans from last year to see how much we had grown. I remember using the length of my old pants to measure how tall my sister was. And when repacking clothes that did fit, I confess that sometimes I deliberately packed clothes I disliked, knowing they’d be “sacrificed” to the emergency kit!

The food splurge was my favorite part. We’d spread out on the living room floor, having an indoor picnic to eat the previous year’s emergency rations. There was something wonderfully delicious about sharing canned Spam and cup noodles while sitting on the living room floor.

But the real ritual happened in the conversations. “Where does Sister Adams live?” my parents would ask. “How many phone numbers can you remember?” “How long do you think it would take to walk to the church building?” “Remember when we stayed inside for days during the ice storm? If you had to go outside, is there anything in your kit that would keep you warm?” These weren’t fear-inducing questions; they were invitations to imagine myself as independent, yet connected to people I trusted and could lean on.

Preparedness isn’t found in perfect preparation; it’s found in knowing who you are and who you want to be during uncertainty. It’s wholehearted readiness: recognizing what you bring to the table physically, emotionally, and spiritually—and what your community brings, too.

My 72-hour kit lived in my closet, always visible but never ominous. It became a physical reminder that reframed my relationship to disasters. I’d sometimes daydream about emergencies not with dread, but with a child’s sense of adventure. Could our kitchen table float if a hurricane flooded my neighborhood? Would I be able to carry both my backpack and my giant plushie? These weren’t thoughts born of fear, but of the imagination of a child practicing and planning. How we frame emergency preparedness matters deeply. When the framing is rooted in fear, it becomes paralyzing. But when approached with our curiosity, our strengths, and our community, preparedness transforms into an act of planning.

The most powerful elements of preparedness aren’t the supplies we gather; they are the connections we forge and the confidence we build. Perfection isn’t the goal—connection and love are. Sharing emergency plans with neighbors, walking evacuation routes together, turning kit updates into meaningful rituals—these seemingly simple acts comprise what I’ve come to recognize as preparedness. A thoughtfully prepared bag with essentials may not have everything. But beyond the tangible supplies, the most valuable thing we pack is the belief that, even in uncertainty, we have ourselves and each other.

An emergency preparedness kit (or “go bag”) is useful for handling unexpected events. Beyond just survival, it can also help regulate your nervous system during stressful situations. During an emergency, our brain enters a stress-activated state, which can make clear thinking and problem-solving more difficult. Having a go bag with all your essential needs can remove some of the panic from stressful situations, offering a sense of direction when it matters most.

However, for many people, just thinking about disasters or preparing for emergencies can create a sense of anxiety or avoidance. The idea of assembling a go bag may feel overwhelming, in part because go bags are so deeply associated with uncertainty, potential danger, or threat. A trauma informed approach to emergency preparedness centers emotional safety, connection, and choice, inviting people to engage in preparedness in ways that feel proactive rather than reactive. When creating a go bag becomes a shared ritual, like a family activity done with playfulness and care, it not only supports physical readiness but also strengthens social bonds and emotional resilience. A well-rounded go bag includes not just practical supplies, but also items that meet social and emotional needs, helping us feel more grounded in times of crisis.

Preparedness can also be planned using TIO’s “Pocket Plan”: a miniature set of notes that can be written as instructions ahead of a crisis and referenced later as needed.

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