On tornadoes, third grade, and fear that never quite expires
I was in third grade when a storm rewired my nervous system.
It wasn’t dramatic in the way disasters look in movies. There was no slow-motion debris or heroic music. Just confusion. Noise. Adults yelling when they were supposed to be calm.
That’s the part that sticks.
Lunch, Interrupted
I was eating lunch when the power went out.
The lights snapped off mid-bite, and suddenly everything shifted from normal to emergency without explanation. Teachers rushed in. Instructions were barked, not explained. We were herded out of the cafeteria and toward our designated tornado spots.
The adults were panicking. Yelling. Voices raised and sharp.
Kids don’t need much to know when something is wrong. We started crying almost immediately.
No Reassurance, Just Noise
My phone was in my locker.
I couldn’t call my mom. I couldn’t hear her voice. I couldn’t get the reassurance that would have told my body, You’re safe.
We were packed together, scared and loud and small, while hail slammed against the windows like punctuation marks at the end of every thought.
The storm felt angry. Personal. Close.
The Part They Tell You Later
Afterward, we learned a tornado had touched down in the cornfield by the middle school—about a quarter mile away.
Close enough to matter.
Close enough to feel real.
Close enough to lodge itself permanently in my brain.
Everyone eventually went back to class. The day continued. But something in me didn’t reset.
How Fear Ages
Trauma doesn’t always look like the big things we’re told to watch for.
Sometimes it’s a moment where the people in charge lose control and you realize, for the first time, that safety is conditional.
Now, when tornado sirens go off, my body reacts before my brain does.
My chest tightens.
My stomach drops.
My thoughts scatter.
I know the statistics. I know the odds. I know how to be rational.
My nervous system does not care.
Still That Third Grader
There’s a part of me that’s still sitting there—lunch unfinished, hands shaking, listening to adults yell and hail hit glass, wondering if this is how everything ends.
So yes. Tornado sirens make me anxious.
👍
And maybe that’s not something to “get over.” Maybe it’s just something to understand — a reminder that fear learned young doesn’t disappear. It just gets quieter, waiting for a sound that tells it to wake up again.
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