Dear Teacher Dealing With the Aftermath of Hurricane Helene

Having lived most of my life on the Texas coast, I am no stranger to natural disasters. As a child, I lived through several hurricanes, numerous tropical storms, floods, and tornadoes. But nothing compares to the devastation of Hurricane Harvey I lived through as an educator in August of 2017.

I think back to that turbulent year quite often and feel grief. Many of our students lost their homes, cars, and community centers. Several schools in our district had to close for extensive repairs. I remember teachers—teachers I know—posting photos of their destroyed classrooms with waist-high stains on the walls marking how high the floodwaters got.

But I also feel an overwhelming sense of pride when I think about how my fellow teachers, administrators, and staff rose to the occasion to prioritize our students’ safety, mental health, and academics (and yes, in that order) at a time when everyone was desperate for normalcy.

Now, as we look at the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, I have no doubt that affected teachers in North Carolina, Georgia, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia are doing and living through the exact the same things.

Teachers, since I know you will barely have the time or energy to be proud of yourself anytime soon, let me express my gratitude in advance and leave you with some advice.

“Be flexible” will take on new meaning.

Even without a natural disaster, teachers are constantly thinking on their feet. But when your school is destroyed and you find yourself teaching in an empty church gym with no technology or supplies—that’s taking flexibility to a new level.

Hold your plans loosely. When you do meet with students again, whether it happens in person or online, if kids need a day to just chat and process and decompress, let it happen.

So will creativity.

When I was 4, I flushed my friend’s stuffed animals down the toilet “to send them on an adventure” and flooded her bathroom. My friend’s mom could have been furious, but she responded, “Wow! That was so creative!” (It’s been a joke between our families ever since. I promise this story is relevant.)

I’m just going to tell you now: This will probably not be the year of teaching where you’re on your A-game. You’ll be scrapping together lesson plans that will later make you go, “Huh.” You might not get to every unit. You might have to pare down many of your units. It’s going to be OK.

Rather than create additional disasters in your mind about your teaching efficacy, be proud of your creativity and ingenuity. When you think back on this year, don’t think, “My teaching was a disaster.” Think, “Wow! The way I responded and dealt with those challenges was so creative!”

FYI: It’s OK to not be OK.

Teaching after a natural disaster in your community—especially if you’re simultaneously dealing with devastation in your own home—tests the limits of what you can handle. Struggling doesn’t mean you’re weak.

Here are 35 free counseling resources teachers can take advantage of. Plus, be prepared to support your students who may find themselves in a mental health crisis.

It’s also OK to laugh.

A few weeks after Hurricane Harvey, teachers were back in the buildings, but students were still at home. We heard rain pelting the roof of the building, and we all had the same visceral, terrified reaction. Though we knew it was probably a small storm, hearing nonstop rain for four days as you watch your city disappear underwater will wreck your sense of normalcy.

“TOO SOON, MOTHER NATURE,” our normally quiet math teacher yelled, making us all erupt into much-needed peals of laughter. (He also said something else, but I will censor it as it was not family-friendly. But just know that it was very funny.)

I’m convinced that laughter does very meaningful work in challenging the power imbalance of tragedy and grief. A natural disaster will always be a sad story. But finding moments of love, light, and joy can slowly infuse that story with hope.

Your students will remember the hope you gave them long after this year.

You don’t need to hold group therapy sessions or host check-in circles every day (actually, I would argue that’s more the scope of a mental health professional). You don’t need to put pressure on yourself to make your students forget what is likely one of the most stressful things they’ve lived through (spoiler alert: they won’t forget).

Life won’t feel normal for quite some time—for you, your students, or maybe both.

Keep being kind anyway.

Your students will see a powerful example from you of perseverance through tragedy. And maybe, just maybe, when the next disaster strikes, they’ll believe the same about themselves.

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