On March 10, 2025, a tornado touched down multiple times along a four-mile stretch in Longwood, Florida — and my house was directly in its path.
As a meteorologist, I’ve covered countless tornadoes and hurricanes over the years (and even a few blizzards during my time up north). But this was the first time I had been at home when a tornado passed overhead.
Even when I’m off the clock, I keep a close eye on the weather — it’s second nature for most of us in this field. And like many in TV news, I also try to capture photos or videos to share with my station and on social media. It’s just part of the job.
Tornado formation was a low possibility on March 10, but you never really believe it’s going to hit YOUR house. I checked the radar a few minutes earlier, but I wasn’t looking when every phone in the house suddenly blared. A tornado warning. I immediately knew what it was, and a quick glance at my screen confirmed it.
As I opened my radar app and switched to velocity mode (rotation indicator), I saw a circulation had just formed — and it was heading straight for my neighborhood. My house faces north, and the storm was moving in from the southwest, which meant the rear of the house would get hit first.
It’s important to remember: radar can show rotation in the clouds, but not whether a tornado is touching down. In some cases, newer radar tools can pick up flying debris if a tornado is strong enough. That’s why ground verification — visual confirmation by trained weather spotters — is essential. The National Weather Service depends on it.
With that in mind, I moved to the safest spot in my home: the northeast corner, opposite the storm’s approach. Like most homes in Florida, mine doesn’t have a basement. From the sound of the wind, the state of the clouds, and the radar images, I knew a possible tornado was just seconds away. I pointed my camera up and started recording.
What you see in the video all happened in about 90 seconds. There was no time to move furniture, like we might for a slow-approaching hurricane. That’s why you see the patio chairs topple first — I wasn’t about to run out and try to save them. I stayed under the reinforced cement-block porch roof.
Moments later, our backyard pool screen enclosure came sailing over the roof, landing in the front yard. At first, I thought part of the roof or gutters had come off — but my husband confirmed it was the lanai.
Did I feel unsafe? No. Was there some risk? Of course. Risk is always present in live severe weather situations. A home less than half a mile from ours was destroyed. In fast-changing conditions, even trained storm chasers can find themselves suddenly in a tornado’s path. But part of my job is evaluating that risk. I knew I wasn’t in the direct path of the circulation, and based on my analysis, the odds of a sudden shift were low. This wasn’t an EF3 or EF5, like the violent tornadoes out west.
Visual confirmation matters — and experiencing weather firsthand makes us better meteorologists.
I was informed, aware of my surroundings, and knew where to seek shelter. My house is built with reinforced cement blocks designed to withstand hurricane-force winds. And unlike the classic tornado footage you see on TV or in movies like last summer’s Twisters, Florida’s tornadoes are typically smaller and often rain-wrapped, making them harder to spot.
I didn’t shoot the video for likes or views — I didn’t expect it to go viral. I’ve recorded many, many weather events that never got shared or viewed this many times. I recorded it because this is what I do. Covering and understanding weather is in my blood. But let me be clear: no video is worth risking your life. I would never knowingly put myself in extreme danger just to get a shot. In this case, I believed the risk was manageable, and I felt it was important to document the event. As soon as the storm passed, I was on the phone with the National Weather Service in Melbourne and my newsroom and weather team, relaying what I’d just witnessed.
As the video spread, many people reached out with kind words — glad that my family was safe and wishing us luck with the cleanup and insurance, as many Floridians know all too well.
Others, however, expressed concern. Some criticized the video as “careless,” worried it would send the wrong message and encourage people to film tornadoes themselves.
I understand the concern, and I want to offer this perspective: I wouldn’t attempt surgery on my foot just because I saw a doctor do it online. Likewise, I wouldn’t suggest that anyone without meteorological training try to record a tornado. I have the tools and experience to assess the risk and make quick decisions — something that isn’t possible without the proper background.
As the video started getting shared beyond Central Florida, I began receiving a wave of hateful comments — and those were harder to ignore. Working in television in the age of social media, I am no stranger to online bullies.
Some accused me of endangering myself for attention. Others said they hoped I’d be impaled by flying debris, or worse. Initially, I tried responding to explain that I’m a meteorologist and was following safety protocol — but it quickly became overwhelming. There were too many comments to count, and I had more important things to focus on — like the damage and cleanup around my home.
One woman called me “deranged” and said I was a poor example for others. Another woman named Diana called me “stupid,” and when I explained that this was part of my job, she replied that my response was “invalid and ridiculous.” It made me pause — how can someone’s personal explanation be “invalid”?
I was also called a “dumbass,” an “idiot,” and many other names. A man named Dan was particularly aggressive in his remarks. His Facebook profile listed him as an elder at his local Christ Community Church. One woman asked if I was a “Trumper.” If so, she didn’t care if I died. If not, she hoped I’d stay safe.
At last check, the video had 1.3 million views on Facebook, 125,000 on YouTube, and another 74,000 on Instagram. That visibility brought a lot of feedback — some kind, some troubling. It left me thinking about the way we interact with each other online… how quick we are to lash out, how easily we dehumanize strangers, and what little grace we offer.
Beyond the personal attacks, some viewers flat-out denied it was a tornado at all. I was told it was “just straight-line winds,” or a “microburst,” or simply “a breeze.” Others claimed I couldn’t possibly understand tornadoes because I live in Florida — as though meteorology only counts in Tornado Alley.
To clarify: the wind you see in my video was not the 120 mph peak EF2 wind speed estimated by the National Weather Service — that occurred about a quarter-mile away. At my location, it was more likely in the EF0 range (65–85 mph). We experience winds that strong in Florida fairly often during severe summer storms.
Records show this was the strongest tornado to hit Seminole County since February 23, 1998, when an F3 tore through the region. (We now use the Enhanced Fujita Scale, or EF scale, which replaced the older F scale).
One month later, cleanup is still underway in our little corner of town. We’re waiting to find out whether our roof will need repairs or a full replacement. The screen enclosure will take months to rebuild. Several trees are gone, the backyard is in disarray, and fences are down — a scene echoed in many homes throughout our neighborhood and others impacted by the storm.
The best news was that not one person was hurt! It’s also another Florida reminder of how a powerful storm — even with all its damage — can bring a community closer together.
My biggest takeaway was this: Because weather is unpredictable, preparation, knowledge, and experience matter. And so does kindness — both during storms and in their aftermath.
Leave a Reply