You don’t see it in the headlines, but living on the streets is a kind of suffering that seeps into your bones. It’s not just the cold or the hunger—it’s the endless waiting, the broken promises, and the feeling of being invisible while you fight for a place to call home.
I’ve clawed my way out of homelessness more than once. I found jobs, hustled for every dollar, and leaned on friends when I could. FEMA put me in a hotel after a hurricane, but that lifeline was short. I’ve been through housing programs that promised stability, only to have the rug pulled out from under me by landlords and caseworkers who talked to each other but left me out of the conversation. I’ve been evicted for reasons I still don’t understand, locked out of programs because of paperwork and technicalities, and left to start over from scratch—again and again.
The hardest part? Being separated from my family, watching my hopes for a normal life slip further away with every “you’re still on the waiting list” call. I’ve been on that list for over a year and a half now. In the meantime, there’s no safety net—just more waiting, more walking, more uncertainty.
I’m sharing this because I refuse to give up. I’m still fighting, still advocating, still trying to stay connected to the world and to my family (mother, father, and sister and her two kids). But I need help to cover the basics—food, a phone, a bus pass—so I can keep pushing forward and keep telling the truth about what homelessness really looks like.
If you can, please buy me a coffee. Your support helps me survive, stay connected, and keep speaking up for people like me who are still waiting for a fair shot. Every little bit makes a difference.
Take a moment to look past the stereotypes. Homelessness isn’t just a statistic—it’s people, it’s families, it’s hope hanging by a thread. If you want to help me keep that hope alive, here’s my [BuyMeACoffee link]. Thank you for seeing me.
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