I live in Texas. Folks toss that phrase around when things get rough: “It’s like martial law.” Most times, it isn’t. We didn’t have a formal order where I was. If you want to see how it can look when the line is even blurrier, check out another Texan’s week that edged into official lockdown.
But I had a week that felt close, twice, and I want to tell you what it was like.
First during Hurricane Harvey, then again during Winter Storm Uri. During Harvey, Governor Abbott activated the entire Texas National Guard to help. Two very different messes. Same tight knot in my chest.
What it looked like on my block
The streets went quiet. Eerie quiet. You could hear boots on the curb. I saw DPS cruisers roll by slow. The Texas National Guard set up by the high school one day, handing out water. Big tan trucks. Folks lined up with tired faces and numb hands.
We had a curfew in our suburb for a couple nights after the flood. Nothing wild—10 pm to 5 am. The city posted it on Facebook and the Nextdoor app. H-E-B had milk limits. Two per person. The cold case looked bare and kind of sad.
My phone buzzed with those loud alerts. Shelter here. Boil water. Avoid this road. I started keeping my ID in my front pocket and a small bag in the car. Cash helped. Card readers were spotty.
It wasn’t soldiers on every corner. It was more like a thick blanket of rules and worry.
Was it “martial law”? Not really, but it felt strict
Let me explain. No one took over the courts or shut down all rights. We still had our say. But parts of life got very tight, very fast. For a plain-language breakdown of what the term actually covers, this first-person primer helped me sort fact from rumor:
- Curfew meant no late runs, not even for a snack.
- Checkpoints on flooded roads. You’d get waved off quick.
- Supply limits. Eggs, bottled water, batteries—gone by noon.
- Rumors on Facebook spread faster than the real notices.
You know what? The loudest thing was the not knowing. Can I head to mom’s across town? Do I need a pass? Who do I ask?
The good parts (yes, there were some)
- Order helped. Nights were calm. Fewer folks out, fewer bad actors sniffing around dark homes.
- Clear posts from ReadyHarris and the city’s page kept my nerves steady. Short, plain posts worked best.
- The Guard handing out water felt human. A soldier said, “We’ve got you,” and I believed him.
- Neighbors stepped up. We used a group text. “I’ve got extra propane.” “Swap me AA batteries for dog food?” Done.
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The rough parts
- Mixed messages. One site said curfew. Another said “advisory.” Which is it? That confusion wasted gas and time.
- Uneven rules between nearby towns. Cross one line, get told to turn back. Cross another, no one cared.
- Long lines for basic stuff. Standing in freezing wind for water hurts. You start to panic-shop without meaning to.
- Social media noise. One bad post would spark a dozen. I learned to wait for the city text or a DPS post.
I caught myself snapping at a clerk. Then I felt bad. Stress turns you sharp. It happens. I also wondered how folks already behind bars were faring; turns out someone wrote about that exact worry in this look at what happens to prisoners under martial law.
Real snapshots from those weeks
- After Harvey, a buddy in a small Gulf town had sandbags at his door and a strict curfew. He said law folks were kind, but firm. “Go home, sir.” He went home.
- During the freeze, my street became a sled hill. Cute for an hour. Then pipes burst. The water notice came fast, and the Guard water line showed up by noon the next day.
- A trooper at a flooded underpass waved me away with two fingers, no fuss. I still think about that quiet gesture. Saved me from a dumb choice.
What I wish I’d known sooner
- Keep your ID and a bill with your address in your wallet.
- Screenshot key notices. Cell data flakes when everyone’s scrolling.
- Pick one trusted source—city alerts, county emergency page, or local news—and stick to it.
- Small cash, small bills. Not to hoard. Just to purchase when card readers go down.
- Check on the older neighbor. It calmed me down as much as it helped her.
One clear guide I’ve since bookmarked is Operation Defuse, which walks you through building a personal plan and filtering the flood of emergency info.
So, my take
If I had to “review” that near-martial-law feeling, here’s my plain scorecard:
- Safety and order: 4/5 when rules were clear
- Clarity of rules: 2/5 (too many mixed signals)
- Community support: 5/5 (neighbors make Texas work)
- Supply chain: 2/5 during the worst days
Would I want this strict setup again? No. Did parts of it help? Yes. It kept the nights calm and the roads safer, and it got water to folks fast. The price was confusion and a tired kind of fear.
Final word from my porch
We didn’t have full-on martial law. But during Harvey and the big freeze, it felt close around the edges. Sirens, curfews, soldiers handing out cases of water, quiet streets lit by porch lamps. It was scary, and also steady, sometimes both in the same hour.
I learned to breathe, read the short official notes, and check on the people on my block. That’s the real review here. The rules help. The people save you.