As a little kid, I had an unusually large fear of becoming homeless.
Maybe it had to do with overhearing conversations between the adults in
my life about paying the bills, and making ends meet; perhaps it stemmed
from the nervous anxiety I felt every time I walked or drove past a
person on the street who was panhandling for change or pushing a
shopping cart full of empty bottles.
Regardless, I resolved at a very early age to never let myself wind
up in that position. By the age of six, I was meticulously saving my
paper route money, declining to go with my friends and spend my
hard-earned cash on Beanie Babies or candy.
This pattern (and my somewhat irrational fear) continued throughout
my childhood and teenage years; in high school, I worked for straight As
so that I could earn scholarships to help pay for my university
tuition, and took part-time jobs so I could pay my other expenses and
save for a car.
When I started working at The Mustard Seed, an organization that
partners with individuals experiencing homelessness and poverty, a
little less than two years ago, my ignorant fear of those on the streets
quickly disappeared and, I'm grateful to say, was replaced by love and
compassion for those without fixed addresses. However, my cautious
lifestyle of saving and budgeting continued. I would consider myself a
fairly responsible person, and I think many of my co-workers and friends
would agree.
So you can imagine the shock I felt when one week very recently, I found myself homeless.
I returned home one evening after a fun day out with friends to find
that I needed to leave the place where I was living due to circumstances
beyond my control. I had less than one hour to throw my clothes,
textbooks, important documents, special photographs -- in other words,
the contents of my life -- into suitcases and duffel bags, unsure if I'd
be able to return, and worried about leaving anything irreplaceable
behind.
When I walked out my front door and put my belongings in my car, it
was close to midnight. I was fortunate to get in touch with one friend
who told me that he was not allowed to have people staying in his
apartment as part of his rental agreement, but that he could offer me
his couch for one night. I gratefully accepted.
I don't think I'll ever forget the emotions I experienced as I was
driving to work at The Mustard Seed the next morning. I had gotten a
combined total of about 45 minutes of sleep throughout that first night
and finally got up with the sunrise. I threw on my staff shirt and got
in my car to head to the shelter for a 12-hour shift.
I hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon (my friend, God bless
him, is one of those bachelors who survives on fast food, and whose
fridge usually contains pop, stale take-out containers, and that random
jar of mayonnaise that has long since expired), and I had no money in my
pocket to buy breakfast somewhere on the way.
I sobbed tears of frustration and exhaustion on the drive across the
city, asking God to give me strength to make it through the day. I knew I
had to pull myself together, because a lot of times, our jobs at The
Mustard Seed are all about holding it together for other people, whose
lives are falling apart in front of them and who are often just looking
for some stability in the midst of chaos.
I wiped my eyes and walked in the door with a smile on my face, all
the while wondering where I was going to sleep that evening. I
eventually resigned myself to the fact that I would be couch-surfing
and, if necessary, spending a few nights in my car when it was 15
degrees below zero outside.
The hardest part of that week was trying to maintain some semblance
of normality in every other aspect of my life. I had exams to write for
school, homework to complete, volunteer commitments to fulfill, and most
of all, I had my job at The Mustard Seed.
Throughout the whole experience I told only two of my co-workers, who
are also close friends; the rest never had any idea (though if they're
reading this, I guess they do now!), not because they are not caring and
understanding people, but because I simply couldn't get past the shame
of my situation to confide in them that I was in desperate need of
support.
I am thankful to have many teammates who would have reached out to me
without a second thought, but my own self-esteem simply didn't know how
to handle the blow. I have such great joy when I lend a helping hand to
other people -- and conversely, I have great difficulty being on the
receiving end. I was afraid that it would change how my co-workers saw
me or related to me (kind of a ridiculous and ironic fear for me to
have, when you consider that the very nature of our work involves being
compassionate and non-judgmental).
I tell this story for one reason: to highlight the incredible
resilience of those living on the streets. I was fortunate. My
experience was fleeting, and yet, that brief stint of not having a place
to call home impacted me greatly. Had it lasted much longer, I don't
think I would have been able to maintain my daily routine, making it to
work each day and keeping up with my schooling.
I also had friends' couches to sleep on, and a car for
transportation. Many of the people I know have been experiencing
homelessness for months or years, without any of the resources I had to
fall back on. And yet, a vast number of them still manage to wake up
every morning and head out the doors of our emergency shelter to get on a
bus to work.
Whether their job is bottle-picking, manual labour, retail, customer
service, or any number of other possibilities, they'll spend as many as
10 or 12 hours a day working before getting on another bus and coming
back to the shelter, kicking off their shoes, and collapsing on their
mat to get a few hours of sleep before doing it all over again the next
morning.
There's this myth that homeless people must simply be irresponsible
slackers, and that's why they don't have housing of their own. Some
people have the notion in their heads that we live in a meritocracy,
where you will succeed if you have talent, ability and a drive to work
hard -- if you don't succeed, then you must incompetent or lazy.
Addictions and mental health issues play a critical role in the lives
of many who find themselves on the streets, but for countless others --
those categorized as "the working poor" -- living in a shelter was once
as unlikely and unimaginable as it is for you who may be reading this.
The reality, however, is that a single life event -- the loss of a job,
an unexpected hike in monthly rent, a serious injury requiring costly
medical care -- can be enough to turn someone's world upside down, and
leave that individual in a position which they never expected to be.
My experience has brought me a new perspective at work. I have more
patience than I used to, and I take extra time to speak with first-time
guests as I guide them through the intake process. Newcomers are often
scared, intimidated, and stunned that their circumstances have led them
to a homeless shelter. If we can offer them a little bit of comfort,
reassurance, and support to ease the blow, then it allows them the
opportunity to open up to staff and to process their situation
internally.
My ultimate goal is that one day, The Mustard Seed and shelters like
it would be merely a stopover in each guest's journey, and that
individuals would need to access our services for no more than one or
two nights before finding a place to call home. There is a great deal of
discussion that needs to take place as an organization, a city, and a
country to make that day come. In the meantime, it's back to work.
- Taj Hall, Support Worker at The Mustard Seed, Twitter:
@therealtajhall
Originally Posted on Huffington Post Blog, Dec 9 2012:
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/taj-hall/homeless_b_2248291.html
-----
Subscribe to The Mustard Seed Blog via
RSS
