The Homeless Homey

Would you believe me if I told you I went on a mission that required me to live with others for three years? Yes, it's true. I packed my southern bags and went west. And no, I wasn't looking for gold, but the experience was gold looking back.

I heard the still small voice say "go," which is precisely what I did. In my mind, it was going to be a breeze. I mean, I have moved before and found suitable employment as well as housing within months. Well, things did not go as planned. What I thought would take months went on for years. I was homeless.

I could not find a job that would pay enough to care for myself, my children, and my housing. People can yell all day about how many jobs are "out there," not understanding the factors that can affect whether or not you qualify or are over-qualified, for that matter. I would be rich if I were paid for the amount of faux wolf on wall street start-up companies I interviewed with. It was a tough time (which I will write about in detail eventually). However, I made the best of the situation as I could. It allowed me to have the freedom to go home often to spend time with my family. I never missed a holiday being with them.

I was visiting my hometown during Christmas, and my brother asked if I would give words of encouragement to get this: a group of homeless men and women. The irony can't be made up. I quickly accepted the invitation. I was them as a child and now an adult, although it looked different.

As with any speaking opportunity, the anxiety rested in my hands when it was time for me to deliver. Fifty-plus were looking at the lady who had just finished serving them dinner. Now she speaks. It was in my heart to encourage them always to expect respect no matter their position. And that no one owed them anything. When I got to the part where I was the ideal person to speak to them, you could see the curiousness in some faces. I began to tell them that although they felt judged, they were judging those serving them. The assumption was that we looked down on them or thought we were better. When I hit them with " I am homeless just like you," you could've heard a mouse pissing on cotton. If the silence of the lambs were to come to life, this was that. I had their attention. Someone in the same position as them made me familiar, safe even.

Afterward, some approached me, thanking me for sharing my story. I wasn't just some fly chick (which I've learned to accept) with huge gold hoop earrings, but someone with common ground. I was the homeless homey. Sometimes, we all need to know that we aren't alone in our journey. There are quite a few in the same boat with different clothes on. We get lost in the outer, unaware that those among us are also struggling. My little advice, be open to sharing some of your experiences; you never know whom you can connect with.

~The former homeless homey