In September 2024, Hurricane Helene tore through the mountains of western North Carolina, leaving devastation in its wake. Devon, a 41-year-old Iraq war veteran, experienced the storm’s fury firsthand. He ran through his Asheville home, listening to the sound of trees snapping in the dark. The wind battered the steep hill where his family lived, rattling windows and cracking limbs. Twenty pine trees fell like dominos, five of which crushed the porch and a corner of the house. Behind the home, the creek rose rapidly, sweeping away anything in its path.
Inside, Devon’s wife and their five-year-old daughter hid in a closet, crying as the house shook. Devon shouted over the wind, trying to anticipate what would collapse next. Though physically inside the home, he felt detached, reliving memories he had fought to bury. “For me, it was very triggering,” he said. “I felt like I was in a war situation.”
Devon, who moved to the mountains from Florida in 2019, asked to be identified by only his first name to protect his anonymity—a core principle of 12-step programs. The veteran returned from the Middle East in 2006 with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and a traumatic brain injury (TBI). To cope, he turned to drugs, starting with pills, then heroin, and eventually a combination of heroin and cocaine. “I was so physically addicted,” he recalled. “The sickness was unbearable. I couldn’t imagine life without drugs.”
In Asheville, Devon slowly rebuilt his life. He joined Narcotics Anonymous, attended regular meetings, and began therapy to address his trauma. With his wife, who had relocated with him, they had a daughter in 2020. Though challenges remained, life in their wooded home felt like it was stabilizing. Then Hurricane Helene struck, fracturing the support systems that had been crucial to his sobriety.
Disasters like Hurricane Helene don’t just destroy communities—they dismantle the structures that help people stay sober. For those in recovery, essential resources such as 12-step meetings, treatment programs, transportation, and social networks can vanish overnight. When this scaffolding collapses, the risk of relapse and overdose rises sharply.
Penn State University sociologist Kristina Brant has spent years studying the long-term impacts of floods on communities. Her research reveals a troubling trend: “an increase in overdose deaths that persists for a decade after a flood.” Grief and trauma, she notes, can linger for years, creating significant triggers that derail recovery efforts.
The threat is particularly acute in the Appalachian region, a mountainous area spanning 13 states from New York to Mississippi. This region has already been devastated by a long-running drug crisis. While overdose death rates in Appalachian counties have declined slightly in line with national trends, the region’s recovery remains fragile. Natural disasters like Hurricane Helene threaten to reverse this progress, leaving vulnerable individuals without the support they need to maintain sobriety.