Here in the Houston area, we are no strangers to natural disasters. Over the past decade alone, there were the Memorial Day floods (2015), the Tax Day floods (2016), Hurricane Harvey (2017), the freeze that exposed the fragility of the local power grid (2021), and in the summer of 2024 (so far), there was the derecho in May and then Hurricane Beryl in July. (And those are just the “more memorable” extreme weather events! I may have forgotten a few.)
Right in the middle of that 10-year window, I was living in the Pacific Northwest and attending graduate school when the coronavirus showed up. As the pandemic raged on, there were devastating wildfires across Oregon and Washington state, along with record-setting heat waves that caused temperatures as high as 116 degrees - in a place where the majority of people did not have central air conditioning.
When I reflect on those events, I often think of my stage of life at the time and the responsibilities that came with it. During the 2015 Memorial Day floods, for instance, my wife and I were newlyweds trying to make ends meet when our car flooded and was totaled. For the first time, I had a spouse to look out for when hard times hit, and my primary responsibility was no longer limited to myself, my family of origin, or what had previously been my brotherhood of fellow bachelors. Thankfully, we experienced what we believed was divine provision during the recovery phase, which allowed us to replace our totaled car with one that was an all-wheel drive and could apparently “drive through small streams.” That felt like a win.
Still, as major flooding became a relentless and seemingly annual occurrence, it all felt a bit unsettling, to say the least. We wondered whether this was really what life in Houston would continue to be like.
So, when I was accepted into a counseling program in Portland, Oregon starting in January 2018, my wife took it upon herself to make sure our new apartment was on an elevated part of the local flood map.
As I mentioned above, though, moving over two thousand miles away to attend graduate school had its fair share of natural disasters, as well. Sure, there was not much flooding, but then we learned that wildfires were capable of consuming the equivalent of a football field in mere seconds! (Not just in California, but further north, apparently.) As it turned out, this possibility of catastrophe was proving to be an inescapable part of life, regardless of where we happened to live. As I began to accept this reality, life’s uncertainties became a reminder to practice gratitude. If natural disasters were going to simply be part of life, that was all the more reason to be grateful for all that life had to offer.
At the same time, I was continuing to learn what that actually meant for me as a husband, and starting in 2019, as a father. In 2020, my wife and I somehow pushed through many hard days during a global pandemic with one income, an infant, most of our family thousands of miles away, and the ongoing demands of graduate school.
Yet somehow, we made it. Over time, we found ourselves being more able to embrace the paradox of both the heartache and the beauty of life, despite our very limited understanding of why things happened the way they did. Throughout this process, we became convinced that divine providence was not only at work, but was something we could always trust. We also knew that despite the COVID-era isolation and all the loneliness that followed, we were never alone. Our local church community, for instance, was there for us, and we tried our best to reciprocate.
Our fourth and final summer in the Pacific NW was greeted by not one but two heatwaves, and my in-person graduation ceremony was held right in between those heatwaves. It was also a few short weeks before the COVID-19 Delta variant arrived, which was poetically perfect timing. Although we moved back to Texas after I graduated in 2021, we will always cherish our adventure-filled memories there - not just the “normal” days of 2018 and 2019, but all of them.
We were also very grateful to have family much closer to us after returning to Houston. That only became more true when our second child was born at the end of 2023.
Fast forward to the summer of 2024, just when we thought we had learned all the humbling lessons that natural disasters could teach us. (Famous last words, right?) Once again, it turned out we still had much to learn as parents of two, with our oldest becoming increasingly terrified of the dark and a baby whose milk would spoil if we didn’t find a way to keep it cold after losing power. At the same time, we did know a few things after experiencing heatwaves in Portland without A/C and a toddler three summers earlier. We knew what it was like to not have the option to “just tough it out,” because being responsible for small humans is a whole different ball game. So, as we thought back to the summer of 2021, when our parental instincts led us to a hotel with A/C, the storms of May and July of 2024 felt familiar. This time, however, we were parents of two, so there was still a learning curve when it came to navigating days on end without power as a family of four. Yet, with a little help from our crew, we got through it. We also were reminded of the joy of helping others do the same.
So, after a decade’s worth of natural disasters, I cannot say “I’ve got it all figured out” when it comes to how to navigate them. I am still learning and will be as long as this life continues. After all, while sometimes similar, none of my experiences with natural disasters have been the same, nor have life circumstances or my roles and responsibilities remained the same as these disasters have stubbornly persisted. However, what I can say is that the more I have accepted natural disasters as an inevitable part of life, the more manageable these challenges have become. By no means do I mean that life has gotten easier; quite the opposite, in fact. However, with increased acceptance about what I cannot control - rather than allowing my mind to look for an escape - working toward a sense of acceptance has enabled me to practice gratitude more often as well as lean into my support system by offering and accepting help. By accepting the moment (instead of daydreaming of ways to flee to some fictional place where natural disasters don’t exist), I have begun to discover a quieter, more peaceful, and more stable source of strength that has kept me going.
That said, I also want to acknowledge these experiences I have described are just that - my own experiences. Perhaps you are one of the many people whose experience during some of these events was simply unbearable. From Hurricane Harvey and the countless homes that flooded in 2017 to the freeze that caused pipes to burst in 2021, the scale of destruction has been devastating. More recently, Hurricane Beryl forced millions of people to deal with extreme heat, some of whom were without power for over a week. Some even woke up to a tree falling through the roof and into the living room. Though we talk a lot about “resilience,” becoming resilient is a process, much like rebuilding a home from the ground up. As we work together to become more resilient, it is important to acknowledge the residual pain from which many of us are still healing. My heart goes out to everyone whose experience was significantly more painful than my own and find themselves on an extended journey of disaster recovery.
In the weeks since Hurricane Beryl, I’ve heard chatter about fed-up Houstonians wanting to escape the city that has seemed long on severe weather and short on electricity lately. Honestly, I don’t blame them. Disaster recovery, after all, includes not only our physical health but also our mental health. So, this reaction of wanting to leave is understandable, and so is the desire to “be done” with all of this natural disaster mess. That said, I have found (in my own limited experience) that escape is not necessarily the answer. Acceptance, however - regardless of the place you call home - just might be.
Ryan Woods, LPC
My goal as a counselor is to help adults, adolescents, and children by providing a space to be heard, process life’s challenges, and develop the necessary skills to thrive mentally, physically, and spiritually. My overall approach to therapy involves cognitive behavioral methods, as well as narrative therapy. I view counseling as a collaborative effort in helping clients recognize strengths, identify needs, understand conflicts, discover new options, set personal development goals, and make informed choices.
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