The Ripple Effects of Homelessness

I got a job and an apartment again. Now my life can return to what it used to be like. Or so I thought.

I have 30 years of an almost perfect rental history — except for that eviction in 2011. And my life will never be the same. After my six-month lease is up, I am looking forward to moving to a nice apartment in a nice neighborhood, one with counter space and more than one outlet in each room. But no matter how much money I make, most of the beautiful apartments in the Sacramento area will be unwilling to accept me as a tenant. “No evictions, no criminal background, no rental debt.” The three qualities are lumped together as if they are synonymous.

Even though I may dream of granite countertops and my own in-unit washer and dryer, I am branded as someone not to be trusted, not to be allowed to sit in the lap of luxury. Most landlords and property managers aren’t willing to listen to a story, even in senior complexes. I can only hope to find another sympathetic landlord willing to take a chance with me.

These days, I try to not get too attached to things. If I can’t find a book, picture, or object in my storage unit, I have to accept that it must have been one of the belongings jettisoned when I lost my apartment. I sometimes think about the beautiful desk that I left behind, or the leopard fur coat that was too bulky to pack, or the favorite books that I had to give away due to lack of storage. But I have learned to cherish the things that I have left, including my mother’s Bible, my father’s fireman’s hat, the watch that my father bought me when I was seven, and the diaries chronicling my life since I was thirteen.

One positive thing that I gained from my experience was fearlessness. When the union at my new job was threatening to strike, many of my co-workers were afraid that a long strike would cause them to lose their homes. But I found that I didn’t share their fears. I’ve been without money. I’ve stood in a long line for my only meal of the day. I’ve spent a night in an airport or train station because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Those things don’t scare me anymore. If I became homeless again, by some unlikely turn of fate, I’m sure that I would survive.

I’ve been without money. I’ve stood in a long line for my only meal of the day. I’ve spent a night in an airport or train station because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Those things don’t scare me anymore.

When I work with homeless families in my job, I have a newfound empathy. I know what it is like to have people on the street turn their heads when you pass by with a backpack, as if they could deny your existence. I’ve seen the scorn on the faces of fellow shoppers when I used my EBT card to purchase food, while they perused the items in my cart to determine if my food choices were appropriate for a poor person. I’ve had government employees talk down to me, as if homelessness equaled stupidity, even though my years of government service and education exceeded theirs.

I know what it’s like to walk around feeling like there was with a visible “H” on your back, a letter branding you as unable, unwilling, and unwanted.

It is hard for me to imagine what my life would have been like without my homeless experience. Eventually, I would have gotten another job, probably not the one I have now, and stayed in my apartment for another five or ten years. Maybe my cats would have lived a little longer because I had money to afford vet bills. I would still have my beautiful desk. But as my mother used to say, “Everything happens for a reason.”

I’m a different person these days, not necessarily better, but hopefully smarter. I’ve come to realize that I’m not what I have, how much I make, or what I wear. I won’t let my finances, good or bad, define me.

Finances, like life, are fluid. They can ebb and flow. And I remain positive. Maybe there still are granite countertops in my future.

Support The Billfold

The Billfold continues to exist thanks to support from our readers. Help us continue to do our work by making a monthly pledge on Patreon or a one-time-only contribution through PayPal.