You can go home again
This is one of my former homes.
I lived at this shelter from August 2013 through January 2015. Seventeen months. Five hundred-fifteen days...give or take a few.
Honestly, it wasn't too tough to stay there. They didn't have too many rules. Pretty much just wake up at 6:30 am, be in on time for dinner, attend a few classes a month. No biggie. Oh yeah...also get along with the 33 other people who lived there at the same time. That was a little tougher.
Living there was easy. Leaving there not as much. Separation anxiety.
For a while I was spending a lot of time at the shelter. I was working on a committee writing and editing a book. I'd go to meetings and stay for dinner. Sometimes, I'd even show up for lunch.
In reality, I missed my friends.
It took a few months and a couple of incidents that pissed me off (I told you getting along with 33 people isn't easy), but I realized that this behavior wasn't good for me. It probably also wasn't good for the people living there, either. So I started making myself scarce. Weeks and sometimes months went by without me going inside the shelter. There were many times I'd walk past the building, think about going in, make up an excuse and then decide no.
As the months passed, my former roomies started to leave. Some found apartments, others moved in with their families, a few stayed homeless but in different locations. Everyone from my time at the shelter was gone. Time moves on and so do people....even homeless people.
I'm not sure why but not knowing anyone there made me feel better. My friends had graduated. I was ready for homecoming. It was time for me to go back. I had an idea on how to get involved again.
Everybody has a story. If you've ever lived in a shelter, you have many. You might think that would be the worst thing that could happen to you, but you'd be wrong. It's really the first step in healing. It's the things that occurred before entering the shelter that are the worst.
The stories revolve around many of the same issues. Drug & alcohol addictions, physical & mental illnesses, problems with partners & children, lack of employment and probably a combination of them. And oh yeah...BAD DECISIONS! Man, can we talk about bad decisions.
You need an outlet for these stories. Getting them off your chest, out of an overworked brain is helpful. It feels good. Writing is cathartic. It's also painful but there's nothing wrong with that. It's a much better outlet to help ease the pain of homelessness than self medicating it away.
I had an idea for a writing/journaling class about two years ago. There was one at the shelter a few years ago but the person leading it left for another state. I occasionally brought up the idea of reintroducing it but it didn't get much traction with the other residents. No big deal. I was writing and I was leaving. But I never gave up on the idea of the class. I just needed to find the right time...for them and for me.
The right time turned out to be now!
Not only have the residents of the shelter turned over, so has a lot of the staff. When I brought up the idea of doing this, they were excited. For some reason, they like having me there...at least occasionally. Maybe I'm an example of how you can overcome being homeless and thrive...maybe. I certainly have them fooled!
The class began last month. It would have been sooner but I was dealing with the Cubs and election. Hey, I'm not totally selfless. We started with six people and now it's up to seven. Every Thursday night at 6:30 pm. It's a pretty enthusiastic group. They weren't happy when we missed class for Thanksgiving. They got over it...maybe.
It turns out we don't do much writing in the class. They do that during the week or at least say they do. What they write is private and no one has to show their work. We do a lot of talking. A LOT OF TALKING!! We go through the gamut of life. The past....the present...the future. While they acknowledge the pain of the past and the present, they focus and are optimistic about the future. I see a lot of tears but their voices are full of hope.
I'm not sure who is getting more out of this experience, them or me. I know that when the class ends, I'm emotionally spent but smiling. It's a good feeling. Trust me, this isn't all out of the goodness of my heart. It's far from totally selfless.
Last week, one of my students asked me if I ever thought of writing a book about the shelter. I told him it would be better as a sitcom. He said I should head to Hollywood. Naaaa...at least not yet. I'm just getting used to being home again.
This is another of the Faces Of Homelessness series. It's a tough subject but there's a lot more to come.