During the Portugal Wildfires, I Saw a Different Kind of Inferno Online

For the last five days, I haven't been a business owner. I've been a neighbour, a friend, a worried citizen, watching my world through a literal and figurative haze.

It started with a tummy bug that kept me couch-bound for 48 hours. But just as I was beginning to feel human again, a different kind of sickness took hold of the air.

The huge wildfires ravaging Portugal sent a smoky pall over my home. The sky turned a strange, unsettling ochre, the birds stopped singing and the smell of burning was a constant, unnerving presence. My own home wasn't in danger, but many of my friends and acquaintances just a few kilometres away were not so lucky, and my heart ached with the vicarious trauma of their potential losses.

Unable to focus on work, I did what so many of us do in a crisis: I turned to social media. It felt necessary, like the modern-day equivalent of sitting by the town square, listening for news, checking in on neighbours, and trying to find some clarity in the smoke. I was looking for connection, for community, for updates that would quell the anxiety knotting in my stomach.

And in the context of our immediate crisis, it was often a force for incredible good. I saw the best of humanity in those local threads: strangers offering spare rooms, frantic calls for animal rescues being answered in minutes, and a constant, vital stream of information that kept people safe. It was a testament to the power of a community coming together. But as my scrolling widened, beyond the circle of our shared emergency, I stumbled out of the town square and into the inferno.

The Digital Inferno

As I scrolled, looking for updates on the fires, I couldn't escape the heat of a different kind of blaze: the rampant anger and division that seemed to have engulfed the entire digital landscape.

I don't usually spend much time on Facebook these days, so the sudden immersion was jarring. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming. It wasn't just in the obvious places, the political threads or the heated global debates. This fire was everywhere.

It was in a support group for people with ADHD, where members were slamming "neurotypicals."

It was in hobby groups, where a shared interest had somehow fractured into warring camps of "us" versus "them."

Men versus women, natural versus allopathic, this vs that—nearly every group I entered felt less like a community and more like a battleground, simmering with a constant, low-grade rage.

The hope for connection I'd been looking for turned to ash in my hands. The experience left me with a profound sense of sadness, a feeling of sifting through the charred remains of what I thought online connection was supposed to be.

"Is this what community means now?" I wondered, with a sense of grief settling in my chest. "Is this all we have left?"

Fanning the Flames: Why Is This Happening?

As I sat with that heavy feeling, I needed to understand. This wasn't random; it felt systemic. Why was this digital fire burning so hot and spreading so fast? It turns out, there are very real, very powerful forces fanning the flames.

Fear is the Kindling
When we feel scared or out of control—like during a wildfire crisis or a global pandemic—our brains crave certainty. The fastest way to feel certain is to find someone to blame. Nuance feels threatening, so we retreat into rigid stances of "us vs. them." It’s a psychological defence mechanism, but it’s the perfect dry kindling, waiting for a spark.

The Algorithm is the Accelerant

Social media platforms are not built for connection; they are built for engagement. And the most engaging human emotion, by far, is outrage. A calm, thoughtful post might get a few quiet likes. A post that screams, "Can you believe what THESE people are doing?!" gets hundreds of angry comments, shares, and reactions. The algorithm sees this storm of activity, marks it as "high-value content," and pours petrol on it, showing it to more and more people. I wasn't just stumbling upon nastiness; the platform was actively curating it and force-feeding it to me because it kept me hooked.

The Screen is the Smoke

The screen removes all the essential social cues that moderate our behaviour—the look of hurt in someone's eyes, the subtle shift in their tone of voice, their body language. Behind the smoke of a profile picture and a line of text, it’s easy to forget there is a fragile, breathing human on the other side. This dehumanization allows for a level of cruelty that would rarely happen in a face-to-face conversation.

The Spark in the Embers

And there, in the middle of the sadness, sitting in the emotional ashes of it all, I felt a spark.

It wasn't a roaring flame, just a tiny, warm ember of clarity. I suddenly realized that what I had witnessed wasn't a reason to lose heart. It was the most powerful, painful, and undeniable market research I had ever conducted. The deep disturbance I felt was the sonar of my soul, perfectly identifying the deep, cold, empty space in the market that I was born to fill.

This experience didn't burn down my mission; it burned away all the non-essentials and revealed the solid, fireproof foundation of why I started this work in the first place.

The world is screaming "Us vs. Them," a battle cry that only ever leaves more destruction in its wake. And I realized my mission is to build a sanctuary that whispers, "Just Us."

Building from the Ashes

That spark of clarity has reignited my passion. The last week, as painful as it was, gave me a gift: a crystal-clear vision of the work that needs to be done. We don't have to accept a world of digital smoke and constant conflict. We can build something better.

We can build a place where conversation is valued over combat, and where understanding is the goal, not winning. A place where you don't have to put on armour just to feel like you belong.

This isn’t just a hopeful dream; it's the blueprint for the work I do every day. I am building this sanctuary. It's called The Comfort Zone Community, a private and vetted online space designed specifically for women over 50 who are tired of the noise and are craving genuine connection.

But a sanctuary needs a gate to protect it.

Before anyone joins the community, they first journey through The Connection Compass, my 6-week live, guided experience. This journey is more than just a course; it's a cultural filter. It's where we practice the "how" of healthy connection and ensure that everyone entering our virtual house shares the same core values of kindness and respect.

It’s how we keep the space safe and repel the kind of conflict I witnessed. It’s how we build a community based not on a shared enemy, but on our shared humanity.

If you've been sifting through the ashes of online discourse and feeling that same sense of loss and longing, please know you are not alone. The world is hungry for a different way. If you're ready to step out of the haze and into a space of warmth and clarity, I invite you to learn more. We are building it, right now. Come and see for yourself at inyourcomfortzone.com.

This is the spark of hope I want to fan into a flame: I believe with my whole heart that we are starving for a different kind of connection.

A connection that isn't forged in the shared heat of a common enemy, but one that grows quietly in the rich soil of our shared humanity. This is the new growth that can, and must, rise from the ashes.

A final, heartfelt note: To the brave bombeiros and volunteers across Portugal who have been battling these devastating fires, thank you. Your courage and selflessness in the face of the inferno are a powerful reminder of what real community in action looks like. Muito obrigada.