As we debate approaches to solving the complex challenges of homelessness in American cities, what is often missing from the conversation is empathy. As the middle class continues to shrink, many of us are a single financial disaster from housing instability. This calamity can come as job loss, foreclosure, repossession, medical emergencies, or a thousand other ways a financial system such as ours can bleed you dry. Couple this reality with our poor approaches to mental health and substance use treatment, and you discover anyone of us could become homeless.

Walking out of a subway tunnel on a cold Chicago night, I stepped over a man lying on a vent blasting heat from the ground below. The temperature was approaching zero degrees outside. Tonight, this would serve as his only form of heat and relief. Walking through Seattle’s Pioneer Square neighborhood, a woman with a disfigured face approached me. Desperately, I looked away from the face before me, ravaged by drugs, abuse, and a system that has ignored her. Walking Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles with a formerly homeless man, I was stunned by the sheer volume of people packed tightly together on the sidewalks of America’s second most populous metropolis. On countless corners to countless highway overpasses, I have read signs screaming for help or a moment of kindness as I averted my attention and made myself busy while waiting for the light to turn green.

In every single one of these instances, I have thought long and hard about what it would mean to be homeless. After working for three years in permanent supportive housing in Los Angeles, I became consumed by the thought of what it would mean to be chronically homeless in the wealthiest country in human history. This essay is an attempt to put myself in the shoes of someone else. If you are up for it, I implore you to attempt the same exercise.

For you to become homeless, what systems would need to fail you?

If I were to become homeless, I would assume several things did not go my way. I would assume I lost my job or found myself in an extended period of unemployment. After spending the first 11 months of the pandemic unemployed and frantically searching for a job, this thought is not inconceivable to me. My savings would be depleted, and I would max my credit cards out. Unable to pay rent, the owners of our apartment would evict us. Unable to pay back the loan on my car, it would be repossessed. If the sadness and extended period of depression I felt in 2020 were to return, I could see my mental health rapidly deteriorating. I am a social drinker and have always been cognizant of overindulgence in the wake of trauma, but that does not mean I would not turn to alcohol as a coping mechanism in the face of my life falling apart.

As my life spiraled out of control, I would find myself reliant on a convoluted housing and support system filled with roadblocks, barriers, and dead ends. In this thought experiment, an extended period of homelessness based on systemic failure is not inconceivable to me.

For you to remain homeless, who would fail to show up for you?

We must all be responsible for our own actions. We will get to personal responsibility in a moment. Falling into homelessness often means your support network failed to show up or could not show up forever.

As I spent 11 months looking for work, we remained housed. Brandon’s parents allowed us to stay in their guest room. Their home became my own. For nearly a year, I had food to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a roof overhead. No one asked me when I was leaving or to pay my part. I was a guest in their home, but it is easy for me to fathom the loss of this safety net.

Working with housed and unhoused individuals for more than a decade now, I have heard countless stories about families and friends who grew impatient with someone’s extended stay. My heart has broken as I listened to LGBTQ+ kids describe being kicked out of their homes because of who they are and who they love. I have lost count of how many times I have heard tales of loving people unable to handle the challenges of addiction and mental illness. Bridges burn, doors close, and then people facing homelessness are forced to make tough decisions. When there is nowhere else to turn, homelessness becomes the only option.

How would you fail yourself and those around you?

Let us be very clear and honest with each other. No one chooses a mental health disorder. The coping mechanisms of our choices usually find us at our lowest point. I also believe no one chooses to be homeless. Those wanting to live “off the grid” are not calling highway overpasses and street corners home by choice. Failure to rise above these challenges often speaks more of a lack of resources than it does personal failings, but there must be some personal responsibility.

At my lowest point in 2020, the depression and anxiety I felt about the future were uncontrollable. I desperately wanted to be happy and hopeful about the future. I wanted to feel as if better days were before me. In my heart of hearts, I knew this to be true, but the evidence before me was telling a different story. In these moments, I searched for healthy outlets. I read, ran, watched movies, or played video games. I did everything I could think of to keep myself from obsessing over the financial damage extended unemployment was doing to me.

My depression could have led to some dark places. It might have meant suicidal ideation, or it could have opened the door to substance use. From here, the potential path is murky, but it is totally possible that these decisions could have led to me losing my housing.

How would it feel to be homeless?

Interacting with unhoused people is an unfortunate part of living in a major American city. As we walk the city streets, they might ask us for change or something to eat. Stopped at a red light, we read signs of those seeking help. We might be forced to step over someone sleeping in a doorway or to shuffle past a tent on a sidewalk. For many of us, these are minor inconveniences and a part of life. These interactions never last long; a couple of seconds and life returns to normal. But not for them.

With my own eyes, I have watched people totally ignore homeless people asking for change or food. I have even seen unhoused people harassed for asking for help. I have pretended to be busy to avoid making eye contact. On multiple occasions, I have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid confrontation. I have watched homeless people verbally berated and physically forced to move along, and I have seen encampments torn down. In these instances, I have often wondered what it would feel like to be homeless.

All of us are guilty of trying to avoid confrontation with homeless people. We avoid eye contact and will not smile in their direction in fear that the simple gesture will open the door to an ask. We ignore homeless neighbors and often fail to even acknowledge their presence. They are modern-day lepers who we avoid at all costs. How must this feel?

How must it feel to be at the lowest point in life and at your most vulnerable? How must it feel to seek kindness and refuge from your fellow human beings, only to find no help? How does it feel to have a system totally ignore and fail you at every turn? How does the constant fear of longing for food and shelter feel? How does it feel to be constantly on guard and unsafe? How does it feel to be unwanted and treated as less than? How does it feel to be seen and treated as if you are unworthy of love? How does it feel to know there are solutions to your challenges, only to discover neighbors who fear your presence and assign characteristics you would never assign yourself?

Standing in a place of empathy, try answering all these questions for yourself. We all assume we have the resources and network to avoid such a fate. If that is true for you, please consider your privilege. If you are honest, you will soon realize homelessness can happen to anyone. It knows no race, creed, religion, political persuasion, gender, or sexuality. Anyone can be homeless, and everyone is.

Understanding the truth and placing yourself in the shoes of others should change the conversation. For me, it did. I hope it will do the same for you. The solutions to these challenges are right before us. Solving them will require empathy, courage, and political will. It will mean retiring cliches and long-held beliefs. It will mean education and spending time with people experiencing homelessness. As you begin this journey, I implore you to keep an open mind and prepare to have your worldview shattered. In that space, we change our communities for the better.

Be good to each other,

Nathan

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