Engaging Homelessness:Conversion Is A Process
This past August, my fiancé Michael and I were a part of a whole army of volunteers that descended upon the streets of Pasadena in the wee hours of the morning with 1 purpose: find the most vulnerable homeless people in Pasadena so that we can house 20-40 of them. Coming into this project, I was a bundle of nerves. Questions raced through my mind: “What if I get hurt by an angry drunk homeless dude? What if I’m not able to find anyone willing to talk to me? What if they ask me uncomfortable questions that I am not prepared to answer?”
The safety portion of the training did little to quell my nerves. Perhaps it is in the nature of police and law enforcement to emphasize the worst case scenario, but I think that if I had really listened to
my fears, I probably would not have gone out and talked to woman that I did find.
To my surprise, I found out that she was not too different from me.
She was young. She was 21 years old, wearing a black hoodie and black jeans, doing her best to blend into the darkness as she walked to work at 3:30 in the morning. In the process of doing the survey, she told me that she slept in cars and in the street, and was just a working girl trying to get a roof over her head.
At this point I am sure that some of my readers are thinking: “Doesn’t Karen know that most of the images of homeless people that she has in her head is just a bunch of misleading stereotypes?” Well, of course. I mean, my honey used to be homeless himself.
He told me his tale of trauma, rootlessness, and survival on the streets of Pasadena while charming me and romancing me in our days of young love.
But as my monk friend, Dennis Gibbs, is fond of saying, conversion is a process. That process of changing my conceptions about homeless people began in the hospital 8 years ago, when I was a one pitiful bundle of clinical depression and despair. In the midst of often painful recovery from the debilitating symptoms of my illness, the prospect of potential homelessness loomed large. After all, I had just lost all my career prospects. An angry developmentally disabled client had attacked me brutally on the job using restraint techniques on me that were all –too-painful reminders of trauma that I had endured in childhood. As a result I was plagued by severe anxiety and thoughts of doom, dread, death, and despair.
The safety portion of the training did little to quell my nerves. Perhaps it is in the nature of police and law enforcement to emphasize the worst case scenario, but I think that if I had really listened to
my fears, I probably would not have gone out and talked to woman that I did find.
To my surprise, I found out that she was not too different from me.
She was young. She was 21 years old, wearing a black hoodie and black jeans, doing her best to blend into the darkness as she walked to work at 3:30 in the morning. In the process of doing the survey, she told me that she slept in cars and in the street, and was just a working girl trying to get a roof over her head.
At this point I am sure that some of my readers are thinking: “Doesn’t Karen know that most of the images of homeless people that she has in her head is just a bunch of misleading stereotypes?” Well, of course. I mean, my honey used to be homeless himself.
He told me his tale of trauma, rootlessness, and survival on the streets of Pasadena while charming me and romancing me in our days of young love.
But as my monk friend, Dennis Gibbs, is fond of saying, conversion is a process. That process of changing my conceptions about homeless people began in the hospital 8 years ago, when I was a one pitiful bundle of clinical depression and despair. In the midst of often painful recovery from the debilitating symptoms of my illness, the prospect of potential homelessness loomed large. After all, I had just lost all my career prospects. An angry developmentally disabled client had attacked me brutally on the job using restraint techniques on me that were all –too-painful reminders of trauma that I had endured in childhood. As a result I was plagued by severe anxiety and thoughts of doom, dread, death, and despair.
Over the next 8 years, I entered into a fear filled process of proving to myself that I could take care of myself and avoid a homeless bag lady fate. Looking back, I can see how well my God provided for me during this time. I can also see how that time of struggle enabled me to empathize and identify well with the fate of women who are homeless or at risk.
But, conversion is a process.
I walked into The Women’s Room last Thursday for the first time to volunteer. The Women’s Room is an outreach of ECPAC (Ecumenical Council Pasadena Area Congregations). It is a place where women, who are homeless or at risk, can come to shower, do laundry, play Bingo, eat amazing soups and salads and socialize with other women in similar circumstances. It is also a place for these women to attend workshops and groups focused on helping them vocationally, emotionally and spiritually as they rebuild their lives.
This time, as I walked into The Women’s Room, I still had fears as to what I might encounter. But again I discovered that the women were not so different than me. I felt like I was sitting down and playing Bingo with a bunch of old friends, rather than “doing homeless outreach”. The Women’s Room has really created an environment where women can relax and feel at home. You almost forget that these women are homeless, until they volunteered that they were struggling to get along with their roommate at the homeless shelter, or spoke of their need to stay hydrated on a hot summer day.
These people are not just nameless statistics or sordid stereotypes. They are my sisters in recovery. They are potentially my friends.
Over the next few weeks, I will continue to document my experiences with these women through this blog. I hope that my writing will bring awareness to this importance issue. But I also hope to document my own conversion. A conversion that starts with fear and ends with love and respect for the qualities of humanity that we all hold in common.
Let the conversion process begin!
But, conversion is a process.
I walked into The Women’s Room last Thursday for the first time to volunteer. The Women’s Room is an outreach of ECPAC (Ecumenical Council Pasadena Area Congregations). It is a place where women, who are homeless or at risk, can come to shower, do laundry, play Bingo, eat amazing soups and salads and socialize with other women in similar circumstances. It is also a place for these women to attend workshops and groups focused on helping them vocationally, emotionally and spiritually as they rebuild their lives.
This time, as I walked into The Women’s Room, I still had fears as to what I might encounter. But again I discovered that the women were not so different than me. I felt like I was sitting down and playing Bingo with a bunch of old friends, rather than “doing homeless outreach”. The Women’s Room has really created an environment where women can relax and feel at home. You almost forget that these women are homeless, until they volunteered that they were struggling to get along with their roommate at the homeless shelter, or spoke of their need to stay hydrated on a hot summer day.
These people are not just nameless statistics or sordid stereotypes. They are my sisters in recovery. They are potentially my friends.
Over the next few weeks, I will continue to document my experiences with these women through this blog. I hope that my writing will bring awareness to this importance issue. But I also hope to document my own conversion. A conversion that starts with fear and ends with love and respect for the qualities of humanity that we all hold in common.
Let the conversion process begin!
