“When I Was Homeless” - Series Article

   

Written by Rosa Hopkins , Vice President at Life Defenders
Also find her at Rosa A. Hopkins 

As the soap suds circled before going down the drain, I wondered if any of this was clean. 

Soap, an agent of cleaning did not feel clean, as I felt so incredibly stained by living in a homeless shelter. 

The stigma could be felt, as the workers' obvious bias pervaded every interaction. I did not feel served; I perceived judgment. The shower was a hiding place, but being wet exposed my heart to fears over cleanliness that I didn't realize I had had. 

I had never before felt sullied by a shower.

I had a need for space that was more than just a physical separation from the others. I needed mental distance from what was happening in my life and who I considered myself to be.

A great chasm had opened up and swallowed me whole. This substrata neither accepted me nor knew what to do with me, and when I had to leave to go to work, the eyes of those on the porch of the house next door burned into every detail about me. 

My life several days prior in a somewhat affluent neighborhood was replaced now by a label of brokenness, because you can't just be homeless. You're obviously a loser, too. 

When I became homeless it was due to a lack of support. Community support, that is. No one becomes homeless in a vacuum.

I am not saying that every case of homelessness can be prevented, but that most people have living relatives and if not, they have people who know that they exist. I found myself in a crumbling marriage and did not feel there was anywhere that I could go, so I became homeless. I went into a shelter.

The first thing they did was to take down my information and to ask me a lot of questions. It was almost like an interview, but it felt more or less like they were trying to determine if I was legitimate. I cannot say that this is the case for other, let's say, applicants.

Without sounding off-putting or entrenched in snobbery, it was painfully obvious that I was different from the other residents. I had come from a very decent neighborhood and was well versed in proper diction. I also had a part-time job where I was the Addressing Project Manager for the country in which I had lived.

I had a vehicle.

I had been married.

I was better educated.

Now it stands to reason that anyone can become homeless, but I think that certain key elements that were missing in my life are not generally expected to be missing in the life of someone who comes from my sort of background.

I went to a church prior to becoming homeless. In their defense, since they are not a Bible-believing, salvation-preaching church, it cannot possibly be expected of them to live out the gospel.

But nonetheless I had gone to a church.

They knew of the crumbling marriage but only sought to add rules and regulations to my life.

These did not help.

When their advice proved useless they were not in any position to try to help me to have a roof over my head.

When those conducting the interview were fully satisfied that I was indeed a legitimate applicant for their assistance, they gave me some things.

Toothpaste, a toothbrush, some shampoo.

It was sad, really.

I had never even considered these things before and now they were being given to me by someone who had thought of these things ahead of time.

 When they showed me to my room, it had three beds in it and several dressers. I was thankful to have this room all to myself, as I am painfully shy. I had a cell phone with me that I afforded with my part-time income.

I spent the first night lying on the hard bed with one thin blanket, listening to the sounds of police sirens that went off in the background like they were the theme to a never-ending crime drama. With only my swirling thoughts to keep me company, I eventually fell asleep.

In the morning I got up early to get ready to go find work and I met a Muslim woman in the backroom who had two small children. She was asking me in short phrases of broken English how to operate the washing machine. I had never seen their machine before and couldn't immediately tell how one should use it.

I was ashamed of this and therefore could not look her in the eye. The woman looked so stressed and burdened down already that I could not bear to have been useless to her. I mumbled something that was my best guess and hurriedly walked away.

That first day of job-hunting proved to be a success. 

I found an ad in the paper for an answering service, and I called the number. I was able to secure an interview on that first day and was able to speak to the owner of the company.

I did not dare let on that I was homeless.

The man said that he would be glad to hire me but that he first had to speak with someone who was familiar with working with me. I said that I could have my current manager speak to him the next day.

I remember going back to the shelter and feeling somehow that this was like returning to jail.

I know that it is not remotely like that and that I was living off the goodness of strangers. I think it was thelack of freedom to do what one wants to in their own space that gave me that feeling.

I can recall using the common shower when my reality hit me, full force, all at once. I was using a small cake of soap in a shower that had been used by so many others when troubled thoughts came into my mind.

In that quiet little bathroom, my world completely caved in.

All pretense of a better life had faded. This was my reality now. I was a number, a statistic, a beggar with her hand out. That was all that I was. I crumbled and felt my former life and all my self worth spiraled down the drain along with the filthy soap water.

To say that I cried would be an understatement.

My soul heaved with a sadness so great that I am certain that the whole building rocked with the tremors. I am sure that if there were rain clouds in the sky that they would have held their peace out of respect. I am certain that a part of me had died. I turned off the water.

I had only a small towel with which to try to both dry off and contain my hair which went down to my mid-back. Cold and with wet hair, I went to my room that had no individual thermostat to regulate the temperature.

The month was October, but it was so cold.

I lacked an inner warmth as my fire was burning out. 

Later on, I decided to join the other inhabitants in the community living room. There were two women who, I found out quickly, were both there due to domestic violence. I was not one such case, though I needed to leave the marriage for other reasons.

The older woman of the two was maybe in her late thirties or early forties, while the other was in her early twenties. I was twenty five. The elder woman had a ten-year old son, while the younger woman had a two or three year old daughter.

I had none.

As the women sat talking, their conversation migrated to the subject of men. They both agreed that they could have a man if they wanted to, but that that was not what they were looking for right then. 

It was a defense mechanism, I believed, and a way to cope because the residents were expressly forbidden by the shelter from having a boyfriend.

I had been in contact with my estranged husband, but had kept that to myself.

The ten year old boy asked me if I had any children, to which I said no. He said that that was very good because things would likely be much harder for me if I did.

The young woman wore a sleeveless tank top and I could see the purple blotches that wound their way from her wrists and up to her neck. 

The bruises were so recent that they looked as if they had happened only moments ago. She clearly had a close relationship to her small child who she lovingly called 'Bug', and I can only imagine that this brought her some comfort.

I shared with them virtually nothing from my life as I felt embarrassed to.

I had not been beaten and was not without a car. I did not even depend on the frozen pizzas which were provided in order to be sustained. Mind you that getting food was difficult, as I was quickly running out of money, but I could afford two fast food meals a day.

When I got up to go to work the next day, I proceeded to go out the back door to the courtyard area so that I could smoke a cigarette. I had no idea that it would set off a loud alarm that would wake everyone in the house and send the caretaker into a frenzy.

I assured her when she came quickly down the stairs, her eyes heavy with sleep, that it was just me that had set the alarm off. She punched in a code into the alarm system before closing the door again.

I got dressed and headed out as quickly as I could so that I could smoke a cigarette in my car.

That same day I made a phone call to the man who had interviewed me and asked if he would like to speak to my manager. He did. As I sat there, she gave a glowing response to his questions, much more in fact, than I could have anticipated. When she passed the phone back to me, he said I was hired.

 Just like that.

I was not a Christian at the time, but for this I can only say, praise be to God! I would start work in two days. Between the schedule at my part time and now my full time job I would be working seven days a week. Without a home to call my own, I did not mind, as there was precious little to do in the homeless shelter all day.

When I returned back to the shelter after my shift I engaged the others in conversation. I mentioned to them that I had found a job and their eyes lit up immediately.

They wanted to know where this job was and if they could work there too.

It was at least twenty miles away and I knew that without a car their hopes were all but hopeless. I told them where the job was, but this reality did not seem to sink in that they needed transportation. The call center ran 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and it simply would not be feasible for me to be able to drive them there, nor could I offer them a job as they were asking.

The question, however, was never asked of me. The discussion turned to another job prospect that was in the same town, but again, the lack of a vehicle was never brought up. I feared bringing that up and did not know whether they really did not know this or whether they were merely wishing to dream.

It made for awful knots in my stomach just thinking about it.

I remember that several of the directors of the shelter heard that I had come into gainful employment and one remarked that this is how it is done. She seemed to imply that the majority of residents are shiftless or lazy or lacking in initiative to better their situation.

I said nothing, but didn't think it was fair to compare our situations and to cast judgment on the other women.

Without a car and child care the opportunities for them were all but nonexistent.

I started work on a Thursday for the new company and found myself very stressed out. This was no Sunday picnic as my failing to pick up the material could result in dire consequences.

In order to lift myself out of homelessness, this needed to be a success.

That first day, thankfully, was spent in training. I was given a uniform shirt, which I carefully wore with another shirt under it so that I would not have to wash it as often.

I never did unpack my suitcase and took it with me everywhere I went, in the trunk of my car. Clothes were transported in and out of the shelter when I needed them this way.

I can remember the stares from those outside the shelter, in the neighbourhood , when I would leave the building dressed in my pretty clothes. They sat on the porch of their run-down Victorian, sitting there, making no bones about the fact that their eyes were trained intently on me. I had to look away and be about my business, never keeping them out of my peripheral in case someone should do something suddenly. Thankfully no one ever did.

The other girls at my new job had decided that they were not going to be my friend. This was an environment where everyone had to work together and when a new girl had a question, she would ask it out loud. There were several occasions where I did this and I received a sarcastic, if helpful, answer back that made my face turn red and made me wish that I could hide away.

I remember feeling about two feet tall when suddenly one of them decided they were going to make conversation. She asked me some things in a short, condescending tone before asking the million dollar question.

'Where do you live?'

'In a homeless shelter?'

'Now?'

'Yes. Now'.

'Are you serious?', her tone beginning to fill with shame and regret.

'Yes.'

The room got quiet.

The girl said she was studying to be a social worker to help disadvantaged people but had no idea that I was homeless. Well, I was homeless. So there.

She tried to engage me in conversation. I could tell she wanted to make up for her past wrongs and I was happy to oblige her. The others turned toward me as well. My working experience there actually became pleasant as a result. No more condescending back-biting or sarcastic tones.

A few days later I was in touch with my husband and we had talked things over. I had wanted to reconcile and he decided that he wanted to also. He hadn't known expressly about the homeless shelter because I didn't tell him.

When he found out he was horrified.

I spoke to the administrator about moving out of the shelter and made something up about moving in with my sister because I did not believe it would have been well-received if I said that I was reconciling my marriage.

Our house had just sold and we were now flush with money from the sale and so we moved into a temporary residence. We remarried and began to look for a new house. As we settled into our suburban lifestyle things were still unsettled and would remain so until I became a Christian several years later. It was then that Jesus would take on the work of radically transforming our marriage.

Our remarriage was 11 years ago.

Today we have a successful music ministry and have had our music played on the air. We are gospel singers and perform for churches, senior centers and youth groups. Last year I gave birth to our first child Ruby Alice Joy.

And all is by the grace of Jesus.

In closing, I would say this: be kind to the homeless. Put yourself in their shoes. Many do not have caring relatives or friends and many suffer from mental illness. Many walk around feeling they have been marked off by society as unworthy and as undeserving of attention.

All have needs.

Many lack basic care and rely on the kindness of strangers for all they have. As such, they are susceptible to abuse. Many homeless women have been abused and have children with them. Many do not have much in the way of support, and there were likely people who did not live up to their responsibilities to help care for them.

There are the children who suffer too, tossed about like trash that no one wants. The social implications are not lost on these young ones. All seem to be waiting for something, as if at the clinic where the doctor is very busy and where there is nothing to do but sit and stare the clock.

Life becomes as sterile as an institution hall that no one dares to enter. And so nothing moves as they sit silently waiting, their lives permanently on hold.

Know that your warm smile or offer of bread will not go unrewarded. Jesus says that as His followers we will be known by our love for one another. 

He also says this in Matthew 25:34-40:

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you? “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ “