A Different Perspective on Homelessness

Florence, OR by the lovely Rachel Renee

It’s been two weeks since I moved out to the coast.
It feels like months, though.

I got a job at a coffeeshop here in town and, despite being homeless (a word I’ve been deconstructing in my mind for years now), and thanks to the help of a few friends and an angel in the DMV, I’ve finally gotten all of my legal documents to say Oregon. Steady roof or not, that feels like the sweetest of victories.

It feels crazy to admit, or taboo at least...

But I feel very separate from society sometimes.

Like I’m dancing on this line between staying in “the club” of “normal people” who plan their retirements and make investment decisions or at least feel sort of ashamed for living paycheck-to-paycheck (because for some crazy reason, punishing ourselves by feeling guilty about something makes us a less terrible person for not measuring up)... and on the other side, wanting to just forage for berries and dance barefoot in the woods around a fire with all the wiser humans who understand. (Not that that’s actually as easy and fun as it sounds; I’m just trying to lightly refer to the communities in the world that reject most societal norms.) Which side do I belong on? How does any of us belong at all?

I know that the answer, for me in my lifetime, is somewhere in the middle. It costs money to run the website where I share my writing with the world. It costs money to access the books, the pens, the coffee, the everyday tools and items I need for life. I need to be part of the community in order to get the healthcare that I need for my lungs. And I can’t imagine a life without libraries and coffeeshops; of course I want to contribute to the sustaining of of these spaces that have given me so much.

But with that in mind, I’ve heard a lot of people picking at homeless people about how they need to do something about their situations instead of “just sitting there like a bum…”

I wanted to share some perspective on the experience of not having a home or money…

It was interesting, when I wanted to open a bank account to deposit my first paycheck here in town… I needed to have proof of my address. Except I didn’t have an address. So I was given a list of alternate options… things like a drivers license (with an address on it), a PO box (which requires proof of your physical address and/or a drivers license with an address on it), proof of car insurance in the state (which requires a car registered in the state which, you guessed it, requires proof of address in the state or an ID in the state, which also requires an address in the state).

Now, I understand that obviously an address is important so that these entities can reach people who may rack up a debt and then just vanish without paying it, commit a crime, and for other reasons… however, it started to feel pretty calculated after a while - I realized, at least in my state, homeless people cannot have bank accounts or own vehicles unless they lie to the government (or have an ID already with an address on it, but they’re still not going to be able to update their address as they’re required to do by law).

It became frustrating how, on paper, I quickly felt myself slipping from being a relatively upstanding citizen, down a slippery slope to barriers and barricades every step of the way. I came to this town with almost nothing. It started to feel like I was going to be required to lie and cheat the system to get anywhere, which would only make me feel worse about myself. Imagine the weight of that being your lifestyle.

Now, I’m not complaining. I signed up for this in a lot of ways, and I’m grateful and joyful that I get to have the adventure and learn these things. I’ve had so much help and love and support - so I’m not sharing this to spark sympathy from you. I know most people don’t get this experience though, and I want to spread a little compassion, understanding, and spark some curiosity for anyone who cares to be kinder to people they can’t understand in all walks of life.

So, how do you get out of homelessness?

Step one is income, right?

I was able to get a job very easily. I got a job from someone I already knew in town. I already told you about how I had to struggle to get my check without paying fees when I really needed every penny I earned to help me get back into housing.

I have the benefit of being a cute charismatic little redhead in her 20’s, so this conversation at the bank wasn’t so bad… I was treated well. (Imagine if someone weren’t so lucky? Being looked down on or avoided, not being smiled at, not having eye contact made… you’d stop feeling like you matter at all so quickly.)

I spoke with a manager about the situation, showed proof of a local employer who banks at the same bank, and while they were kind, they weren’t willing to open an account.

That sounds mildly annoying, but it goes deeper than that if you think about it. Just imagine emotionally what you would be going through if you had lost your housing, your job, and your support system. Regardless of how it happened, can you imagine that level of isolation, shame, guilt, confusion, and exhaustion? The stresses of your every day life now would fall aside to make room for stressing about what kind of food you’re able to get open and eat, where you’re going to the bathroom, where to sleep, if you even have enough money for food, where you’re going to get a couple bucks for more food, where to keep your toothbrush so it won’t get dirty, trying to look presentable and not appear homeless (which eventually fades into just hoping your clothes are dry and don’t smell too bad), when you can wash your hair again… For me, even with all of the support and love I’ve had and the knowledge that I largely chose to experience this the way that I am, it felt cold exhausting. I started wanting to hide, in just two weeks it got harder to make eye contact with people.

I started to feel a line drawn, and I doubled down on my search for housing and to increase my income… but I also started to feel sick, which brought on a whole other wave of fear. Where do you stay when you’re sick and there is no home? And if I’m sick, there’s no income. Then what? Two weeks seemed to change me so much in some ways… what would longer do?

Step two, transportation.

Now, this town has a very small free transportation system that runs from about 11am until 6pm and covers the main few blocks of town. I’m able to walk everywhere, so I do, but if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to get to work at 8am or home from work (wherever home is that night) if I get off after 5pm, or if I lived past the main streets of town.

I was able to get a car for only $300 thanks to a connection from my job and a loved one who was willing to help. If I wasn’t a cute young girl, I probably wouldn’t have been given this help - or the $300 the seller gave me off the original $600 asking price for the vehicle.

After I got the vehicle, I wasn’t able to register it without an address. Without an absolute angel at the DMV, I would still not be able to register or insure my vehicle. Legally, I wouldn’t even be allowed to park it on the street.

Step three… survival. Food and daily life.

Everything is harder without a homebase. Even harder still when you don’t have a little day-place to take it to. Have you thought about what it would be like to shower and get ready for work every day in a place that isn’t yours? Where your things are not able to be where you normally leave them, where the floor and the air is freezing, where you don’t control (or maybe don’t even have) the heater…

I didn’t realize how exhausting it is to be physically cold until I didn’t have a home anymore. Showers at the laundromat are $4, which adds up quickly when you’re in a tight spot. It cost me over $8 to do one load of laundry, just two pairs of jeans, three shirts, pillow case, socks, and underwear. That’s all I’ll use in a week.

Food is a whole different experience. I have never craved a hot meal so much in my life, and I’ve actually had several. Just not as often as I’m used to. I can’t imagine what it must be like for those who aren’t so lucky! When I’m cold or tired, I lose my appetite and will forget to eat for days, so not being able to make hot food has been especially difficult.

Sometimes there’s a microwave I can use - and again, being a pretty young woman comes with advantages like people not minding if I use their microwave or being happy to give me some hot water for oatmeal or even a free splash of cream for the instant coffee I brought myself. But overall, I’m eating the cheapest cold/dry/non-refrigerated food I can. My diet has mainly consisted of grapes, apple juice, tea, instant coffee, crackers and cheese, oatmeal, instant rice cups, and soup cups. Yesterday, I caved and got a corndog from the deli… it was hot and I was so excited about it that I had to laugh at myself.

Personal responsibility matters to me…

I notice people tend to assume that homeless people aren’t taking responsibility for their mistakes and responsibilities. I’ve never really been on board with that generalization; you never know someone’s story and being homeless is definitely not a fun or easy experience. Sometimes people just carry different burdens - or carry the same burden in a different weight or with different capacity. We don’t all start at the same point in life, you know? So if nothing else, I hope you leave this post willing to show a little more grace and compassion to the people you might otherwise judge and write off as a waste of space. They’re not. They’re human too, they’re just different from you.

Sometimes, when I’m talking about my situation, older women will chime in that I shouldn’t call myself homeless. Not because it’s not accurate, but because they think I am too smart and pretty and full of hope to be homeless. Homeless has moved its meaning from simply a state of not having a home or access to housing, to now applying only to dirty old alcoholics and drug addicts, and implying that they are somehow worth less as people. I disagree with everything about that, but I’ve found that insisting that yes, I am in fact a homeless person, does help to soften the judgment people hold toward those who fit the homeless stereotype and open up conversations about homelessness in a more compassionate light.

As for me, I know things will turn up soon.

I’m young enough, crazy enough, new enough, and self-aware enough to be pretty thoroughly enjoying this whole experience thus far. I also know that I can be a bit spoiled and entitled in my tastes and that many, many people have it much worse.

I’m not blind to that, I’m very grateful for the support I have. I appreciate the privilege that makes this so much easier on me too, and I’m learning a lot about judgments and lapses in compassion that I have had for others as I go through this trying time.

I also know that the choices I made got me into this situation. (Though if I’m honest, that’s a double-edged sword. On the one hand, knowing I got myself into this mess makes me feel safe in the confidence that I can get myself out of it. On the other hand, some part of me is most definitely terrified that I’ll get stuck in it forever if I’m not careful.) I also know that some of it was out of my control.

Ultimately, there’s lots of learning, grace, growth, and grit happening right now. I’m holding myself as gently as I’m able to while also pushing forward toward the next right step for me. I’ve just been blessed with a safe place to stay until I find permanent housing - which I can’t tell you about just yet but I will once it’s safe for me to do so because it’s another epic little story.

(Has being homeless made me a fugitive? Feels like it! Haha!)

Where I’m going from here…

I am so happy to be back home in Florence, and I can’t imagine going anywhere else. Housing is notoriously difficult to find here and I’m in a very tight spot financially, so my next adventure is in the land of finances and small town living…

I’ve been craving home and peace, the kind of adventure where much of the days are the same, where routine takes hold but the seasons and the stories of people passing by change, rather than my physical home and career. I feel like my life has been constant rapid change since I moved to the Oregon coast in an RV back in 2019 and, while change is an inevitable part of life (and something I absolutely love and crave anyway), I’m longing for a slower pace and familiar patterns that can heal and soothe what the last 26 years have made of me.

It looks like a long road ahead and sometimes it feels like a mountain looming over me… but I think I can do this.