A Message to the Yacht Owners

What happens on board after the guests go to bed?

There are things yacht crew become extraordinarily good at hiding.

Grief. Fear. Exhaustion. Loneliness. Anger. Trauma.

And sometimes, something much darker.

You don't put those things on a CV. You put the yacht down. The length. The position. The itinerary. The dates. You write Bosun or Chief Stew or Deckhand. You list the tenders you drove, the passages you completed, the charters you turned around, the maintenance you managed.

You don't write: I learned how to cry without making a sound.

You don't write: I learned which footsteps outside my cabin meant I should lock the door.

You don't write: I was terrified of the person who controlled my career.

You don't write: Something happened to me and I still had to serve breakfast the next morning.

You simply put the next yacht on your CV. And you keep going. Because that's what yacht crew do. We are professionals. And perhaps we are too good at it.

The perfect charter

There is an extraordinary skill involved in making a yacht look effortless.

Guests see the champagne arrive. They don't see who chilled it. They see the immaculate deck. They don't see who was up before sunrise. They see the perfectly made cabin. They don't see who changed the sheets. They see the smiling stewardess. They don't see what happened in her cabin an hour earlier. They see the tender waiting at the swim platform. They don't see the deckhand who has been awake since 0500. They see the captain calmly discussing the itinerary. They don't see the pressure in the bridge.

They see a holiday. Crew see a job that has to be done perfectly.

Because the charter cannot know that somebody is falling apart. The guests have paid for perfection. So you become perfect.

Your mother has died? You still serve lunch. Your relationship has just ended? You still smile. You've spent the night crying? You still knock on the guest cabin at 0700. You've been sexually harassed? You still walk past the person who did it. You've been screamed at? You still answer the radio professionally. You've been physically assaulted? You still have to work.

The yacht does not stop because a human being has broken. That is one of the extraordinary things about yacht crew. It is also one of the most dangerous.

Some owners really do care

And this needs to be said. Because this is not an article about bad owners.

There are owners who know their crew by name. Owners who ask about families. Owners who understand that a crew member isn't simply another line on the payroll. There are owners who have sent flowers and a handwritten card thousands of miles to a crew member's home because their mother died. There are owners who have paid for flights home. Owners who have quietly helped when a crew member was struggling. Owners who understand that the person polishing their yacht is someone's child.

Those owners exist. So do captains who would fight for their crew. Heads of department who notice when the newest deckhand isn't themselves. Chief stews who sit on the cabin floor with a crying junior and say: "You're not alone." Captains who stop an operation because a crew member says: "I don't think this is safe." Captains who call for professional help when someone is struggling.

ISWAN's own reporting contains examples of supportive captains contacting Yacht Crew Help themselves after crew experienced traumatic events or mental-health difficulties. In those cases, ISWAN says the involvement of supportive leadership made a positive difference.

These people matter. But how many are there? And how many crew members are lucky enough to work for them?

Because there is another side. A captain who constantly micromanages. A chief officer who humiliates. A senior crew member who decides that the newest person is their target. A person who shouts because they know nobody can answer back. A manager who quietly threatens a reference. A crew member who is told that if they don't like it, they can leave. A sexual comment dismissed as banter. An unwanted touch dismissed as flirting. A safety concern dismissed because "we've always done it this way."

A complaint followed by: "I'm sorry that happened to you." And then nothing.

That sentence appears innocent. It can even sound compassionate. But imagine hearing it after you've finally found the courage to tell someone what happened. "I'm sorry that happened to you." And then you watch the person you complained about walk past you at breakfast the next morning. Still employed. Still in charge. Still holding your reference. Still holding your future.

What exactly was the point of speaking?

When "I'm sorry" becomes the end of the conversation

ISWAN's Yacht Crew Help exists because these situations are not theoretical.

Its 2024–25 annual review recorded a 21.4% increase in contacts concerning abuse, bullying, harassment, discrimination and violence compared with the previous year, while mental-health-related contacts increased by 13%. Contacts concerning unfair dismissal also rose sharply. And 80% of abuse, bullying, harassment, discrimination and violence cases came from women — despite women making up about half of contacts where gender was known. Women contacted the service about bullying and harassment as well as sexual harassment, sexual violence and physical abuse.

And some of the individual cases are difficult to read. Because they are not about someone having a bad day at work. They are about people being frightened.

A stewardess locked herself in her cabin

ISWAN documented the case of a stewardess who contacted Yacht Crew Help while her yacht was in a European port. She had been verbally and physically abused by her captain. She wanted to leave. She was frightened. She locked herself inside her cabin. But this wasn't even the first time the boundary had been crossed — the captain had previously forced his way into the cabin.

Yacht Crew Help worked with a local seafarers' centre. A woman went to the yacht. Within roughly 20 minutes, the stewardess was being accompanied to safety.

Think about that. Not a nightclub. Not a dangerous street. Not a stranger in an alley. Her own cabin. The place where she was supposed to sleep. The place where she was supposed to feel safe. And the person she needed protection from was the captain.

Another crew member was afraid of his own captain

In another documented case, a young seafarer described a captain who shouted, swore at and humiliated crew. The captain controlled the internet onboard and monitored the crew member for mistakes. The crew member became frightened of doing anything wrong.

Imagine living like that. Not simply worrying about your work. Worrying about being watched while you work. Waiting for the next mistake. The next criticism. The next outburst. And knowing that your home is also the workplace. There is no commute home. No office door you can close. No train you can take to get away from your boss. The next room is your bedroom.

A crew member sexually assaulted by a senior officer

ISWAN documented a case in which a crew member contacted Yacht Crew Help immediately after being sexually assaulted by a senior officer. She was struggling with the shock and emotional impact and was unsure whether to report the assault to police. She was worried that somehow she had caused it. She received emotional support and counselling, along with signposting towards legal assistance.

Another former crew member contacted ISWAN years after a sexual assault onboard. She had lost her job. She had been offered a financial settlement not to report the assault. Other crew members had covered it up because they were afraid to speak. The experience had continued to affect her mental health years later. She felt unable to continue her career in yachting.

Read that again. She lost her career after being sexually assaulted. And other crew members were afraid to speak.

That is not gossip. That is documented welfare casework.

And then there was Paige

On 3 July 2025, 20-year-old South African yacht stewardess Paige Bell was found dead aboard the 43-metre Far From It in Harbour Island, Bahamas. A fellow crew member was arrested and charged with her murder. The accused has pleaded not guilty, and the legal process must be allowed to establish the facts.

But Paige was 20. She was someone's daughter. Someone's friend. Someone's crew mate. She went to work on a yacht. She did not come home.

The circumstances surrounding her death shocked the yachting and maritime communities and prompted renewed discussion about crew safety, vetting and welfare — covered by Superyacht News among others.

And that story should not become simply another headline that disappears when the next season begins. Because it forces a question that the industry cannot comfortably answer: how safe is a yacht when the people living on it are isolated from the people who could help them?

The four-month problem

There is another reality that people outside yachting struggle to understand. Sometimes something happens. And then the yacht keeps moving.

Imagine being physically assaulted by someone senior. Imagine witnesses. Imagine CCTV. Imagine that everybody knows. And then imagine being anchored somewhere for weeks or months and having to work alongside that person. You still have breakfast. You still stand watch. You still clean. You still drive the tender. You still answer the radio. You still walk past them in the crew mess. You still have to pretend everything is normal.

Because the boss trip doesn't stop. The itinerary doesn't stop. The guests don't stop. And perhaps nobody has actually removed the person responsible. So the victim has to become an actor. That is what professional yacht crew are sometimes asked to do. Perform normality.

How much can professionalism hide?

This is where the industry needs to have a serious conversation. Because professionalism is one of the greatest strengths of yacht crew. It is also one of the easiest things to exploit.

A civilian might have something happen to them at work that leaves them unable to function for days. A yachtie might have the same thing happen and still serve breakfast at 0700. Not because they are unaffected. Because the charter needs to be perfect. And frankly, sometimes the people paying for that charter don't care what happened downstairs. They want their holiday. The canapés must arrive. The champagne must be cold. The tender must be ready. The smile must remain.

So crew learn to separate the person they are from the person they need to be. For a few hours, perhaps that is professionalism. For months or years, it can become survival.

Your mother died. The charter still starts at eight.

There is a particular cruelty to working at sea. The world at home can collapse while the world onboard continues perfectly. You can receive the worst phone call of your life and have to walk straight back into service.

And this is where those exceptional owners matter. Because sometimes someone notices. Sometimes an owner sends flowers. Sometimes a captain quietly says: "Go home." Sometimes a chief stew sits down beside you. Sometimes a crew mate makes you coffee and doesn't ask you to explain.

Those moments matter enormously. But they shouldn't depend entirely on luck. A crew member shouldn't have to win the lottery of having a good captain to be treated like a human being.

When does leadership become control?

There is a difference between high standards and humiliation. Between accountability and intimidation. Between leadership and micromanagement. Between training and tearing someone down.

Yet the line can become blurred onboard. "I am only demanding excellence." "I am only correcting them." "I am preparing them for the real world." "They need thicker skin."

Perhaps. But there is a question worth asking: is this person becoming better at their job — or simply more afraid of you?

A crew member who is afraid to make a decision isn't necessarily a better crew member. They may simply have learned not to take responsibility. A deckhand who won't challenge an unsafe order isn't necessarily obedient. They may be frightened. And that is where this stops being a personality problem. It becomes a safety problem.

What happens when crew speak up about safety?

This is one of the most serious questions in any vessel operation. A junior crew member sees something unsafe. An officer gives an instruction they believe is wrong. A procedure isn't being followed. Someone says: "I'm not comfortable with this."

What happens next? Do they get listened to, or told they're inexperienced? Do they get thanked, or labelled difficult? Do they get protected, or do they lose their job?

Because the message a hierarchy sends in that moment matters. If crew learn that speaking up gets them punished, eventually they stop speaking. And when people stop speaking, risks become invisible. That is how safety cultures fail — not necessarily because everyone is careless, but because everyone has learned to keep their mouth shut.

Where do we draw the line?

Is it when someone is bullied? When they are humiliated? When they are sexually harassed? When someone is assaulted? When a complaint disappears? When the victim is fired? When the perpetrator stays? When a crew member is afraid to report unsafe practice? When somebody is injured? When someone dies? When someone takes their own life?

Where is the line?

How many times can we call something an isolated incident? How many times can we say: "That's just that captain." "That's just how yachts are." "Don't make trouble." "You'll ruin your career." "It'll blow over." "I'm sorry that happened to you."

At what point do we stop calling it culture — and start calling it what it is?

Yachting gets inside your head

It isn't only the dramatic incidents. Sometimes it is the accumulation. The long hours. The lack of privacy. The pressure. The hierarchy. The uncertainty. The constant scrutiny. Being away from home. Missing birthdays. Missing weddings. Missing funerals. Relationships ending while you're thousands of miles away. Family getting sick. Being told to smile when you don't feel like smiling. Living with people you didn't choose. Working with people you wouldn't choose. Not knowing whether your contract will be renewed. Worrying about your next reference. Wondering whether your captain likes you. Wondering whether everyone else is coping better than you.

And eventually you realise that you aren't just tired. You're different. You don't sleep properly. You stop enjoying things. You isolate yourself. You drink more. You become anxious. You become angry. You don't recognise yourself. You start thinking about leaving. And then you think: but what else would I do?

ISWAN's 2024–25 Yacht Crew Help data recorded a 13% rise in mental-health-related contacts, with cases ranging from low mood and worry to acute mental-health crises. The numbers don't tell the whole story. They can't. A helpline only sees the people who reach for the phone.

The most dangerous person onboard may not be the loudest. Sometimes it is the person everyone likes. The charming one. The experienced one. The person who knows everybody. The person who can get you your next job. The person who is wonderful in front of the owner. The person who knows exactly when to switch the charm on.

And perhaps that is why independent reporting matters. Because power makes complaints complicated — especially when the person accused is the person who controls the hierarchy.

So what should happen?

Not another poster in the crew mess. Not another mandatory PowerPoint. Not another policy nobody reads. We need systems.

Crew need to know: Who can I call if my captain is the problem? Who investigates? Who protects me from retaliation? What happens if the person I report is the owner's friend? What happens if I lose my job? What happens if I am offshore? What happens if I don't know whether what happened to me is serious enough to report?

And perhaps most importantly: can I ask for help without immediately having to decide whether I am making a formal complaint? Because sometimes a person doesn't need a lawyer first. They need somebody safe to talk to.

If you're the crew member reading this

You do not have to wait until you're broken. You can ask for help because something feels wrong. You can ask because you are exhausted. You can ask because your captain is frightening you. You can ask because you're being bullied. You can ask because someone is sexually harassing you. You can ask because you don't know whether what happened to you counts as abuse. You can ask because you are worried about a crew mate. And you can ask without knowing what you want to do next.

Yacht Crew Help — ISWAN

This is probably the first number every professional yacht crew member should have saved. Yacht Crew Help is operated by the International Seafarers' Welfare and Assistance Network (ISWAN). It is free, confidential, multilingual and available 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, wherever you are in the world. You can contact a real person by phone, WhatsApp, email or live chat — and you do not have to provide information you are uncomfortable sharing.

Phone: +44 (0)20 3713 7273 · yachtcrewhelp.org

They can help with mental health, abuse, bullying, harassment, sexual violence, employment problems and other situations affecting crew welfare. And if the issue has already been reported onboard and nothing has happened, ISWAN specifically advises crew to seek further help rather than simply accepting that the matter has been ignored.

Nautilus International

For crew dealing with workplace disputes, unfair dismissal, contractual issues, bullying, harassment, pay and conditions, Nautilus International can provide union representation, advice and legal support to members. Nautilus represents yacht professionals of different ranks and nationalities and specifically supports the international nature of yacht work. One important point: Nautilus advises yacht professionals to become members before an issue arises if they want access to its member legal support.

The Crew Counsellor

For crew who simply need someone who understands the world they are living in, specialist counselling can be invaluable. The Crew Counsellor, Karen Murphy, is former crew and a qualified counsellor/therapist specialising in supporting crew, including critical-incident and family liaison support following trauma. Phone: +44 7470 677 899.

The Crew Coach

The Crew Coach provides counselling and mental-health support specifically tailored to yacht crew, including stress, burnout, anxiety, workplace conflict and personal challenges. The service is founded by a former superyacht Chief Stewardess and qualified counsellor.

Riviera Counselling

Stephanie Woollacott is a former yacht crew member and qualified counsellor based in the South of France, offering counselling specifically for crew as well as support for anxiety, stress, burnout, grief and relationships. rivieracounselling.com · steph@rivieracounselling.com · +33 (0)6 20 74 23 26.

The Superyacht Psychotherapist

For crew who prefer a qualified psychotherapist with direct experience of the yacht environment, The Superyacht Psychotherapist offers remote and face-to-face counselling and psychotherapy to yacht crew, captains, pursers and management. nick@thesuperyachtpsychotherapist.com · +44 (0)7860 152703.

Professional Yachting Association

The PYA is another professional organisation yacht crew can turn to. ISWAN specifically identifies organisations such as the PYA and Nautilus as possible sources of assistance for crew experiencing abuse, bullying, harassment or discrimination.

If you're in immediate danger

Don't wait for a management company meeting. Don't wait for the next port. Don't wait for the next crew change. Get somewhere safe and contact the appropriate emergency services where you are. And if you're not sure what to do next, contact Yacht Crew Help. You don't have to know the answer before you make the call.

And to the parents reading this

If your daughter tells you she wants to work on yachts, don't scare her away. But don't romanticise it either.

Ask her: "Who is your captain?" "Where are you going?" "Who can you call if something goes wrong?" "Do you know your rights?" "Do you have independent emergency contacts?"

And most importantly: "Are you actually okay?"

Not: "Are you having fun?" Not: "Is the boat amazing?" Not: "How much are you earning?" Ask whether she is okay.

And when your son tells you his captain is making his life miserable, don't automatically tell him to toughen up. He might need to. But he might need help. There is a difference.

And to the yacht owners

This is why this article is called A Message to the Yacht Owners. Not because every owner is responsible for every terrible thing that happens onboard. Not because every captain is abusive. Not because yachting is inherently toxic. It isn't.

There are extraordinary people in this industry. There are extraordinary owners. There are extraordinary captains. There are crews who would walk through fire for one another. There are yachts where people genuinely look after each other.

But if you own a yacht, you have an opportunity that very few employers have. You can create the culture. You can decide what happens when somebody speaks. You can decide whether welfare is treated as seriously as maintenance. You can ask questions that your crew may never feel comfortable answering when the captain is standing beside them.

Ask them privately: Do you feel safe? Do you feel respected? Are you getting enough rest? Would you tell me if something serious happened? Do you know who you can contact independently of the yacht?

And then listen. Don't defend. Don't explain. Don't immediately call the captain. Listen. Because the answer might be uncomfortable. And that is exactly why you need to hear it.

The yacht is yours. The people aren't.

The engines are maintained. The teak is maintained. The tenders are maintained. The generators are maintained. The safety equipment is checked. The paint is inspected. The fire systems are tested. The navigation equipment is serviced. Everything that matters to the operation of the vessel has a system.

Crew welfare should not depend on whether someone happens to have a good captain. It should not depend on whether the owner happens to be compassionate. It should not depend on whether the chief stew happens to notice. There should be somewhere to go. Someone to call. A process that works. And consequences when it doesn't.

Because professionalism is not the absence of pain. A crew member can be devastated and still perform. They can be traumatised and still make the bed. They can be grieving and still serve breakfast. They can be terrified and still stand their watch. They can be bullied and still polish the stainless. They can be assaulted and still smile at the guest. They can be mentally falling apart and still deliver five-star service.

That doesn't mean they're fine. It means they're professional. And perhaps the next step for yachting is learning that professionalism should never be mistaken for permission to ignore someone's suffering.

So where do we draw the line?

When someone is bullied? When they're humiliated? When they're sexually harassed? When they're assaulted? When the complaint goes nowhere? When the victim loses the job? When the perpetrator stays? When crew stop speaking up about safety? When somebody gets hurt? When somebody dies? When somebody takes their own life?

Where?

How many more times can we say: "It's just that captain." "That's just yachting." "Don't make trouble." "You'll ruin your career." "I'm sorry that happened to you."

How many more people need to quietly leave the industry before we admit that something is wrong? And how many more people need to stay?

Perhaps the answer starts with one very simple idea: we can love yachting and still demand better from it.

We can be grateful for the career and honest about its darker corners. We can respect captains and still hold them accountable. We can understand that owners have enormous pressures and still expect them to care about the people making their experiences possible. We can tell young people to join the industry while teaching them what to look out for. We can tell parents about the adventure without hiding the risks. And we can stop pretending that the person wearing the uniform is somehow less human because the guests have paid for perfection.

The best yacht in the world isn't necessarily the one with the most beautiful interior. Or the biggest tender. Or the most expensive wine cellar. Or the longest guest list.

Perhaps it is the one where a junior deckhand can walk onto the bridge and say: "Captain, I think this is unsafe." And know they won't be punished for saying it.

Perhaps it is the one where a stewardess can say: "I'm not okay." And someone listens.

Perhaps it is the one where a crew member can report something terrible without wondering whether their career will be the casualty.

Perhaps it is the one where the captain knows the difference between discipline and cruelty.

Perhaps it is the one where an owner knows the names of the people who make their yacht run.

Perhaps it is the one where nobody needs to be afraid of what happens after they speak.

Because behind every perfect charter is a crew. And behind every crew member is a person. Someone's daughter. Someone's son. Someone's partner. Someone's best friend. Someone's entire world waiting for them at home.

They are professionals. They are resilient. They are extraordinarily capable. But they are not machines. And they should never have to become one to survive the job.

A final message to anyone reading this from a crew cabin tonight

If you're happy onboard, I hope you stay happy. If you're tired, I hope you rest. If you're grieving, I hope somebody notices. If you're struggling, I hope you tell someone. If you're being bullied, I hope you know it isn't something you simply have to endure. If you're being harassed, I hope you know you have options. If you've been assaulted, I hope you know it was not your fault. If you're afraid to speak, I hope you find somebody outside the hierarchy who will listen.

And if you are reading this at 2 a.m. wondering whether anyone would actually care: someone will. We do.

Start with one call. One message. One conversation. You don't have to know what happens next. You just have to stop carrying it completely alone.

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If this article resonates with you, we can help. Our Crew Rights page — thecrewatelier.com/crew-rights — brings together your rights under the MLC, flag-state contacts and free, confidential mental-health resources. It is also where you can tell us what's happening directly: report a concern completely anonymously, share your story in your own words, or reach out for our help and resources — anonymously if you prefer. Reports are never published, never shared with anyone onboard, and you decide whether to leave a way for us to reply or stay fully anonymous.

The Crew Atelier — for the people behind the yacht.