I wanted a whiskey; I found a community instead

I wanted a whiskey; I found a community instead

A description of the experience of the storm through the lens of someone in recovery from alcoholism.

English

I was 25 days into recovery from alcoholism when Helene hit. I hadn't really been tempted to go back in those first few weeks of sobriety; they talk about a "pink cloud" where you feel pretty excited to be sober for the first time in a long time, and you're really motivated and energized to stay that way. But then, the storm. If there was ever a time when I would've used a three-finger pour to dull some senses, it was this.

Like so many others, our neighborhood - in a rural-ish part of south Asheville about halfway between Fletcher and Fairview - was hit hard by the storm. Around 2am that morning, after the second huge tree fell too close to the house for comfort, and before the trees blocked all the roads around us, my family evacuated to a nearby church parking lot to wait out the worst of the wind and rain.

We had only lived in our new house for four months, and when we walked back to it later that morning (the roads now impassable in a car), our little neighborhood was almost unrecognizable: trees and powerlines were down everywhere, rooves were smashed, our daughter's room was flooded, our wooded backyard was no longer full of the beautiful oaks and pines that had drawn us to the neighborhood in the first place.

The next few days (weeks, for those who stayed behind while some of us temporarily relocated) were a stressful and uncertain blur. But I remember two things very clearly. The first, as I mentioned before, is that I wanted a drink. And this connects in some ways to the second, which is that our neighborhood came together quickly and with extraordinary determination to recover and rebuild.

On the first day after the storm, a man who lived four houses away but whom I had never met showed up with some family to chainsaw the trees off our tiny road so that we could access our homes. Our five-year-old son served the men lemonade and our three-year-old daughter sang them songs and showed them her precious stuffed animal, "Bunny". Over the next few days, we shared pool water, camp stoves, snacks, and generators. When we were able to, my family connected to Starlink, turning our porch into the neighborhood internet cafe. My next door neighbor was also in recovery (small world!), and helped me tamp down my desire to drink by re-focusing my efforts and thoughts on the people and tasks around me, and by reminding me that we were in this together.

Recovery for me - both from the hurricane and from alcoholism - was made easier when our neighborhood came together after the storm. I am grateful for the ways that we supported each other with laughter, generosity, and brute strength. I am grateful that when my mind and body were needed to help my children and my neighbors who were older and/or worse off than we were, I was clearheaded and strong enough to help.

I think, in some significant ways, my experience with Helene shaped the way I have approached recovery from alcoholism. As I write this, I am nearing seven months of sobriety, and I have learned, as I did in the first days after the storm, that I can stay sober if I stay busy, help others and ask for help, focus on what matters, and lean into my community for strength and hope.

We are still in recovery, for some of us in more ways than one, and we are still leaning on each other, but now we are more than neighbors. Now we are friends. We are a community. We know we can count on each other moving forward, and that makes us stronger individually and collectively no matter how the winds blow in the days ahead.