I want to clear the air and anchor us in the present. If you’ve been following my writing, you might have read a recent piece reflecting on my time being unhoused. Because the internet blurs timelines, I want to make sure no one is worried that I’m still in that exact place.
Here is the real-time update: Today is June 21, 2026. I am writing this from my own one-bedroom apartment in Seminole Heights, Tampa. I’ve been here since January.
The two most important things you need to know are simple, but for me, they are everything:
I am housed.
I am working.
Not long ago, I was sleeping in Tampa parks, navigating the day-to-day chaos of having nowhere to go. Today, I am safe in the most fundamental sense of the word.
The Math of Rebuilding
I’ve been working with the Kenefic group at Baptist since November, and tomorrow, I’m getting a 10% raise. It isn’t "retire early" money, but it’s a milestone. I am employed, and considering how shaky things got at one point, I don’t take that lightly.
I actually faced termination recently for missed time, but right now, I have workplace accommodations in place—a vital buffer while I wait to hit the one-year mark for FMLA.
Stability isn't just about having a job. It’s having the paperwork and institutional support in place so that one rough patch doesn't wipe you out completely.
But let’s talk about the reality of "stability." A job does not instantly erase the margins of poverty. I am making enough to survive, and sometimes, not even that without help.
The Bills: Rent is $1,100 (thankfully furnished with electricity included). Even so, I’m currently juggling a $150 deficit.
The Utilities: This month, I had to rely on LIHEAP to keep the lights on.
The Basics: Rebuilding from zero is expensive. When you don't have enough clothes, relying on the kindness of coworkers (who donated their family's clothes to me) is the only way through.
People hear "apartment" and picture a neat, settled life. My budget is still held together with duct tape. When you live this close to the edge, a $40 internet bill is a mountain, and ordering a $7 case of Amazon ramen is a strategic survival move.
Navigating the System's Friction
I am currently trying to navigate the food assistance system again. I was recently denied, and as is often the case, the why wasn't entirely clear. My caseworker is stepping in to help me reapply.
The system often feels designed to induce exhaustion. I've had benefits cut the minute I was approved for a job—before a single paycheck ever cleared. It’s a systemic friction that makes you want to quit, but I can't afford to. The daily calculus never stops: Do I take the bus to save money, or take an Uber so I’m not late to the job that keeps the roof over my head? When you add in the domino effect of payday advances—borrowing against tomorrow to eat today—it feels like running uphill with a backpack full of bricks.
The Blueprint for the Next Season
Right now, my biggest equation is making my income match—and eventually exceed—my expenses. I need an emergency cushion so that a single crisis doesn't put me back on the street.
Here is the strategy:
The Overtime Grind: I’m targeting the Medicare/Marketplace open enrollment season (October through January). This is when overtime opens up. I plan to work at maximum capacity—stacking time-and-a-half to build a financial fortress.
Strategic Rest: Because I know my health requires downtime, I will use that financial fortress to fund the unpaid time off I will inevitably need later in the year. When I am off the clock, I am practicing intentional laziness. No guilt. Just absolute recovery. I can only push my limits if I respect them first.
Healing: I am finally utilizing a free remote counseling program through work. Mental health and long-overdue, expensive dental work are the next mountains to climb. I can't push through them alone anymore.
Holding Space for the Journey
Internally, I am still wrestling with a low-grade existential crisis. I know it’s there, but I don’t unpack it every day. I give it room to breathe when I can, but right now, survival and housing have the microphone.
Writing remains my therapy. Whether it’s voice-to-text on the bus, AI-assisted editing, or experimenting with TikToks and visuals, creating content gives me a sense of agency. It proves I am building something, not just surviving. Tools like Claude help me process my thoughts without having to re-explain my trauma from scratch every single time. It’s new tech serving an old-school goal: Tell the truth, and keep going.
A Note of Gratitude
Before I close this out, I want to issue a very sincere, heartfelt thank you. To those of you who recently bought me a coffee—or multiple coffees—that surprise was a literal lifeline. Because of your generosity, I was able to temporarily get my phone turned back on. It may go dark again for a few days until my next payday on Friday, but having that connection right now means more than I can express. It is a tangible reminder that I am not carrying this weight entirely alone.
Today is Sunday. Happy Father’s Day, and Happy Juneteenth.
As I look at the week ahead, I am choosing to focus on the priorities: Getting to work is smart. Keeping the job is smart. Staying housed is smart. Everything else is secondary.
I am okay, and I am not okay. I am stable in the ways that matter most, and struggling in ways that are often invisible. I'm sharing this because I refuse to let my story be reduced to a highlight reel of overcoming. This is the messy, current chapter.
I’m still here. I’m still trying. And today, that is enough.
If this one stayed with you, you might also like:
The Struggle Doesn't End at the Doorstep: Rent, Reality, and What Comes Next 🏠
🏠 Update: Building Toward Stability
An Honest Update: Navigating a Difficult Season & Asking for Help