What an Earthquake Taught Me About Identity

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Shortly after my mother and father died, I traveled to Medellín, Colombia, to facilitate a restorative justice circle. The trip had been planned months earlier, and although I considered cancelling it, I decided to keep my commitment. I am still grieving, and I was not sure I was ready to return to work.

Restorative justice has shaped much of my professional life. It has taught me that people cannot be understood by looking only at the event that brought them into the room. Listening comes before accountability because people speak differently when they know someone is genuinely willing to hear their story.

The participants in Medellín spoke openly about their families, painful experiences, broken relationships, and decisions that had changed their lives. The conversation unfolded naturally, without anyone feeling rushed or interrupted.

The Interrupted Conversation

We had been talking for a while when several phones started vibrating. At first, no one thought much about it. Then someone looked at a message and quietly said there had been an earthquake. The conversation stopped as people reached for their phones to call their families. I called mine too.

While I waited, I looked around the room. One participant walked toward the door to get a better signal. Camilo remained in his chair, trying another number. Across the circle, a woman smiled after someone answered her call, and quietly put her phone away. Those are the moments I remember most clearly.

What I Saw in That Room

A few minutes later, everyone returned to their seats, and Camilo finished the story he had been telling before the interruption. The conversation continued as if it had been paused. As I listened, I paid closer attention to the silences, the expressions on people's faces, and the patience people showed one another. No one hurried the conversation. Everyone had the time they needed to tell their story.

People often ask why I continue believing in restorative justice after so many years. My answer has become simpler. I believe people speak more honestly when they know someone is willing to listen.

That afternoon reminded me that we never meet people at the beginning of their story. By the time they enter a restorative justice circle, they have lived experiences that continue to shape the way they see themselves and others.

When the circle ended, I realized I was no longer thinking about the interruption. I was thinking about the people I had spent the morning listening to.

Thinking About Identity

I am still in Medellín as I write this post, and I keep thinking about those few minutes after the earthquake. The restorative justice circle continued, but the interruption has stayed with me because it connects with questions I have been exploring for many years.

My work on identity restoration theory began with a simple question: What helps people begin seeing themselves differently? Over the years, I have come to believe that lasting change involves more than changing behavior. People also need to believe their lives can move in a different direction (Castell Britton, 2026).

The earthquake led me to think about that question from a different perspective.

Before the phones started ringing, we knew one another through the stories people had chosen to share. A few minutes later, everyone was trying to reach family. For those few moments, nothing else seemed as important.

I have continued thinking about that change because it reminded me that identity is closely tied to our relationships. The first person we try to reach when something unexpected happens says something about who we are.

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Research on collective emergencies describes similar reactions. People often contact family and friends first, while also looking after those around them (Drury and colleagues, 2020). I do not know whether I will think differently about this experience a year from now. Today, while I am still in Medellín, it has given me another way of thinking about identity.

The Conversation I Keep Thinking About

Only two days have passed since the earthquake, and I am still in Medellín. The news continues to report the devastation across Colombia, and each update reminds me that many families are now living with unimaginable loss. Like so many others, I keep checking the news, hoping the number of lives lost does not continue to grow.

Even so, my thoughts keep returning to the restorative justice circle.

I cannot remember the exact sentence Camilo was saying when the phones began vibrating. That part of the conversation is gone. What I remember are the people in the room. I remember everyone reaching for a phone. I remember someone walking outside to find a better signal. I remember the relief on one participant's face after hearing a familiar voice.

I have also been thinking about my parents. Their death is still very recent, and I realize now that I did not leave my grief behind when I boarded the plane to Medellín. It was with me throughout the circle, even if I did not recognize it at the time. I listened differently that morning, and I suspect my own loss had something to do with it.

That is one of the reasons I wanted to write this while I am still here. I did not want to wait until the experience became another memory. I am still trying to understand what those few minutes meant, both as a psychologist and as someone who has recently experienced a profound personal loss.

When I think about that morning, I do not begin with the earthquake. I think about the people who were sitting in that room.