I want to tell you what it feels like to prove the same thing over and over.
Last winter I was homeless. I was living out of a hotel room, working full time, and getting sick more often than I want to admit.
Some mornings I was chasing housing paperwork before my shift. Some mornings I could barely get out of bed. Every time, I sent an email to my boss. I said where I was, why, and when I would be in. I kept every one of those emails, because when you have nothing else, you keep proof.
In January I finally signed a lease. That same week, I wrote to HR and explained all of it. The hotel. The sick days. The hours that piled up while I was trying to get a roof over my head. I asked if the time could be excused, or if I could make it up. I was pointed to a different inbox.
In February I sat in an HR office, sick, filling out forms.
In March I was approved for support, and I let myself believe the hard part was behind me. I let myself believe it was handled.
In April I sat down again and forwarded every email, one by one, with a letter explaining the same winter. Housing. Health. Dates. Times. I organized it all so no one would have to dig.
In August I got a final warning. The same winter was still in the total.
And this week, I got another report. More than a hundred hours. A big piece of it is the same December and January I have already explained, in writing, more than once.
So here I am again, gathering the same stack of papers.
I want to be honest. I did not do everything right. Some of my emails went to the wrong place. I own that.
But there is a difference between making mistakes while you are drowning and being asked to relive the drowning every few months like it never got written down.
What nobody tells you about hardship is that surviving it is not the end. You also have to keep proving you survived it.
Every time, you open the same folder, reread the same emails from the worst weeks of your life, and explain yourself to someone new, in a calm and professional voice, hoping they believe you this time.
And the stakes have not gotten smaller. My housing is still fragile. This job is what keeps a roof within reach. If I lose it, I lose the paycheck that is supposed to keep me inside.
I am not writing this to name anyone. I am writing it because I know I am not the only one.
If you have ever had to explain your worst season to a system that keeps forgetting it, I see you. Keep your emails. Keep your receipts. Keep your voice steady even when your hands are not.
If you want to help, a coffee here keeps me going while I fight for this. Sharing this post helps me feel less like I am shouting down an empty hallway.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for believing me the first time.
Adontai
If this one stayed with you, you might also like:
I Have a Job and an Apartment and I'm Still Drowning
The Receipts, The Performance, and The Gap in the Safety Net