The Tauranga Landslide: When the Ground Gives Way --- Finding Steadiness After Disaster Through a Somatic Experiencing® and Psychological Perspective

He maunga teitei, he whakaaro hōhonu (A lofty mountain inspires deep thought)

As I reflect on the severe adverse weather over New Zealand’s North Island this week, and the tragedy that unfolded as a result of the landslide in the Tauranga Mount Maunganui area (Mauao), I want to offer my perspective as a psychologist, combined with my training in Somatic Experiencing, on what happens when a natural disaster occurs, not just externally, but within our bodies, our nervous systems, and our shared sense of safety.

Perhaps because I grew up in Pretoria, the capital of South Africa, natural disasters were not a dominant feature of my early life. Geologically, South Africa is quite different from Aotearoa New Zealand. My brother’s observation and metaphor of New Zealand as a “melting ice cream” has stayed with me, and this week it resonates sharply.

On a personal note, it was the presence and energy of Mauao that drew me and my family into a deep sense of belonging with Tauranga. On our very first day here, standing at the foot of this mighty maunga, we knew we had found home. It was there, in 2018, that we decided to move and continue our lives in this magnificent place.

Before I continue, my deepest heartfelt thoughts are with the whānau who were deeply and intimately affected by these events. May these words stand gently amidst the linearity of time. It is also my deepest heart’s wish that something here may bring a small measure of comfort, understanding, or steadiness.

When forces larger than life take over

Natural disasters confront us with forces utterly beyond human scale. In the aftermath, people often find themselves holding unimaginable grief and loss, of loved ones, homes, landscapes, and futures once assumed. There can be a profound sense that nature has turned against you, accompanied by a loss of faith in what was once believed to be solid and reliable: the land, the weather, God, or life itself.

A defining feature of these events is a total loss of control. Assumptions about basic safety, often held unconsciously, are abruptly shattered. For many, this can be accompanied by the challenge of navigating relief organisations and systems. During this time, intense emotions may naturally be directed outward as people seek understanding or try to make sense of the scale of what has occurred.

And yet, alongside devastation, other qualities often emerge unexpectedly: resilience, cooperation, community, and unity. These are not abstract ideas; they are lived, embodied responses that arise when people come together in the face of the unforeseen. This has become so evident as the days continue.

 

Community, meaning, and the need to gather

Across cultures and throughout history, the unpredictable and unforgiving forces of nature have often drawn people toward mystical, spiritual, or religious meaning-making. Many indigenous and local communities developed rituals to appeal to nature, for example to bring rain, to protect crops, or to restore balance.

After disaster, it is profoundly important to bring survivors into community, well actually, for all of us to sense into our support systems. Healing does not happen in isolation.

Collective connection, rebuilding together, creating shared rituals, telling stories, and making meaning supports nervous systems to gradually settle.

Gathering people to share their experiences through conversation, art, dance, song, food, and shared resources can be deeply regulating and restorative.

It is equally vital to offer care and support to responders and care providers, whose nervous systems are also stretched by repeated exposure to distress and urgency.

Common responses in the body and nervous system

From a Somatic Experiencing perspective, the symptoms that arise after natural disasters are not signs of pathology; they are signs of a nervous system doing its best to survive overwhelming circumstances.

People may experience an inability to settle, with extremely high activation such as panic, rage, hysteria, or hypervigilance. Sleeplessness is common. Others may move toward dissociation, shock, or numbing. Severe despair, depression, hopelessness, and grief can emerge, alongside intrusive and repetitive images or memories.

Some people notice shutdown, inhibition, or hypersensitivity in certain sensory channels. There may be loss of sensation in parts of the body, or heightened sensitivity to sound, light, or touch. In extreme cases, people may experience a wish to die, often connected to longing to reunite with those who perished.

Symptoms vary depending on how much warning there was, the scope of the event, and the magnitude of loss. Certain sensory channels may become overwhelmed by what was seen, heard, or felt, or may temporarily shut down altogether. Some people may briefly lose the ability to see, hear, or speak, while others become terrified of particular stimuli, such as looking at the sea or hearing heavy rain.

The survivor’s inner world

Survivors often move through experiences of terror, utter helplessness, and profound disorientation. Shock and denial can make it difficult to process the sheer magnitude of what has happened. Grief may include the loss of loved ones, homes, livelihoods, and a sense of future. Social disconnection or isolation may also occur, whether imposed by circumstance or chosen as a form of self-protection. Existential questions often arise, including a sense that there is no future, or feelings of betrayal by God or the divine, leading to disillusionment with what was once sacred. Survivor guilt is also common and can manifest as an overwhelming sense of responsibility for those who survived when others did not.

Early support and grounding responses

In the early stages, one of the most important therapeutic principles is to normalise these reactions. Orientation is key, gently helping people distinguish between what happened then and what is happening now:

“The ground moved, but it has settled now.”

“The ground shook, but it is quiet now.”

“The seas were angry, but they are calm now.”

Orienting to present-moment safety, and to the felt sense of stability that exists right now, helps the nervous system begin to come out of survival mode.

Simple grounding practices, such as gently pressing the feet into the ground, can support reconnection with the body and with the earth. Resourcing is equally important: identifying moments of kindness, or noticing what helps one get through each day. When the connection to the earth feels broken, these moments help orient to the notion that it is over.

Phases of disaster and recovery

Responses to disaster unfold over time, and support needs differ depending on the phase a person or community is in.

1. Initial Impact phase: The focus is on survival and assessing the scope of the damage. Essential needs include medical care, water, food, shelter, and safety. There is often an urgent need to locate or support loved ones and assess property damage. Community action and collective clean-up efforts can be deeply regulating during this phase.

2. Heroic phase, one to two weeks post-event: High adrenaline, acts of heroism, and strong community bonding are common. Group efforts dominate, and there may be a sense of shared purpose and momentum.

3. Honeymoon phase, one week to six months: As immediate danger passes, people begin to settle and reorient. Relief organisations may provide food and shelter. Returning to familiar rituals, music, shared meals, and cultural practices becomes important. Small group activities, such as collective projects, can be comforting and healing.

4. Disillusionment phase, several months to over a year: This phase often brings frustration, grief, hopelessness, health challenges, and exhaustion. Bureaucracy, paperwork delays, and the realisation that life will not simply return to “normal” can weigh heavily on those affected.

5. Reconstruction phase, several years: Gradually, external stability increases. People begin to rebuild lives, routines, and meaning, returning to more consistent functioning, often changed but not broken.

Te Ao Māori, Mauao, and the wisdom of relationship

With respect to mana whenua of Tauranga Moana, and in acknowledgement that the following reflections are offered from a place of learning and reverence.

In Te Ao Māori, the land is not a backdrop to human life; it is alive, relational, and deeply interconnected with whakapapa, identity, and wellbeing. Mauao, standing watch over Tauranga Moana, is understood not simply as a mountain, but as a Rangatira, a chiefly presence, a guardian, an ancestor.

From this perspective, Mauao is not something to be conquered, consumed, or endlessly relied upon without consequence. He is in relationship with the people and the whenua. When the land is overwhelmed, destabilised, or injured, it is not only a geological event, it is a relational one.

There is much to learn here. Just as people need time to rest, integrate, and heal after trauma, so too does Mauao. The whenua requires space, care, and respect to recover. In Te Ao Māori, listening to the land, observing its signals, its limits, and its rhythms, is a form of wisdom passed down through generations.

Perhaps part of our collective healing involves slowing down enough to notice that the land is communicating. That guardianship is reciprocal. That resilience does not mean relentless use, but relationship, restraint, and deep respect.

Closing reflections

Natural disasters leave deep imprints, not only on landscapes, but on our psyche, our somatic beingness, communities and collective memory.

Healing is not linear, and it does not happen in isolation. It certainly unfolds through connection, presence, and compassionate witnessing.

If you or someone you love has been affected, know that your responses make sense. Your body is responding to something overwhelming. With time, support, and community, steadiness can slowly return.

May we continue to hold one another and the land that holds us gently, patiently, and with care, as the ground beneath us slowly settles again.

He taonga te whenua, he oranga mō te katoa.

The land is a treasure and a source of wellbeing for all.