North Carolina Volunteers Built New Safety Net After Helene

When Hurricane Helene barreled toward Weaverville, North Carolina, Kimberly Treadaway worried about more than just food and water for her 5-month-old son. She needed daily access to Suboxone, the medication keeping her opioid cravings at bay after a decade in recovery.

Treadaway knew she wasn't alone. Her partner relied on the same medication, as did many of their friends in the recovery community.

The thought of navigating a disaster while experiencing withdrawal symptoms like fever, chills, and vomiting terrified them all. "Helene just made it really, really real," she said.

When the storm hit, it shattered the fragile healthcare system that keeps people in recovery stable. Pharmacies closed. Clinics went dark. Roads became impassable. For weeks, the routines and connections that prevent relapse simply vanished.

But something remarkable happened in their place. Across western North Carolina, a loose network of harm reduction organizations mounted an urgent grassroots response.

Treadaway joined the effort through Holler Harm Reduction, a Marshall-based organization that serves people who use drugs. Volunteers, doctors, nurses, and people in recovery climbed onto ATVs, loaded up trucks, and sometimes traveled on foot to deliver medications and supplies.

They reached people that official emergency responders, constrained by training and mandate, could not. They did what felt urgent and right, filling gaps the formal system left behind.

Treadaway's journey to this moment started years earlier. At 19, she woke to find her partner had died beside her from an overdose. The tragedy pushed her toward help, though her path to recovery wasn't straight.

She found acceptance in the harm reduction community, which helps people reduce drug-related risks without judgment. There, she could exist honestly in the gray space between active use and recovery, a process that's rarely linear.

The Ripple Effect

The volunteer network revealed what disaster response could look like if designed around real community needs. In rural areas already strained by hospital closures and limited healthcare access, formal systems often fail people who use drugs.

But when crisis struck, people with lived experience became the experts. They knew which back roads remained passable. They understood which supplies were truly essential. They spoke the language of trust that opens doors official responders can't.

Their work didn't just prevent withdrawal and overdoses. It maintained the delicate web of relationships, routine, and care that makes recovery possible. It showed that community members themselves hold crucial knowledge for keeping each other safe.

Treadaway now serves as organizational director for Holler Harm Reduction, channeling her experiences into helping others navigate their own complex journeys. The network that formed after Helene continues meeting needs that traditional emergency systems overlook.

When disasters strike communities already fighting for survival, sometimes the most powerful response comes from those who understand the struggle firsthand.