My Journey Into Homelessness: Surviving with Almost Nothing

My Journey Into Homelessness: Surviving with Almost Nothing

I never thought I would be homeless at this stage of my life. After 18 years of marriage to a malignant narcissist, losing my precious daughter Abigail, fighting a brutal and corrupt divorce, being kicked out by my own mother, and then also by my brother, I found myself with very little money and no safe place to live. While trying to protect my spirit from the constant erosion of narcissists who surrounded me, what started as a temporary season has stretched into months of surviving day by day out of my van.

At first, I stayed in a cemetery for several months. It sounds strange, but it was one of the safest places I’ve been. At night they locked the gates, and the police were the ones who locked them. I felt protected. There was also an electrical outlet there, so in the winter I could plug in my small heater. I slept near Abigail’s grave, talking to her, praying, and trying to hold onto some sense of peace in the middle of the storm.

Since then, I’ve stayed in many different places overnight: hotel parking lots (well-lit and busy, so less chance of being robbed), in front of a courthouse under a tree, library parking lots, parks, campsites, and RV parks that offer cheap rates for van dwellers. Walmart also allows overnight parking. The hardest part is that you can’t stay in one place too long — people notice, and you eventually get asked to move. Being homeless means constant motion.

How I’ve Survived Practically

I learned to be resourceful with almost no money. I have a cooler and I fill grocery bags with ice from motel ice machines in the breezeway. At the library, I freeze water bottles in their freezer and they let me keep food in their fridge. Some hotels let me use their business center computers to print documents for my legal cases. On really good days, I’ve asked if I could eat breakfast at a hotel and, surprisingly, they’ve said yes. McDonald’s senior coffee with cream for 79 cents has been a small daily comfort.

Cooking has been a lifeline. I have an electric skillet that has saved me. I use electricity from park lamp posts or outlets at the base of trees. I boil water for coffee and tea with my electric kettle. Simple meals keep me going: steamed potatoes with veggies and hamburger patties or lamb, rice stir-fries, scrambled eggs with vegetables in tortillas, pasta bakes with mozzarella, pancakes, cornbread, honey corn cake, and even brownies baked in an aluminum pan over water in the skillet. It’s not fancy, but it keeps me nourished.

Showering is another challenge. Some fitness centers and rec centers let me shower for free or for $2. RV parks and city parks have also been helpful depending on where I am.

The days are long and tiring. I spend most of my time at the library working on my legal cases (the divorce and the Google case). By 6 p.m. I am exhausted. On extremely hot days with no A/C in my van, I walk the outer aisles of grocery stores — produce, refrigerated, and frozen sections — just to cool off and get some exercise. Most people don’t even notice.

The Emotional and Spiritual Reality

Even while homeless, I’ve tried to stay clean and organized. I present myself well, so many people don’t realize I’m living in my van. But the constant moving, the lack of a stationary place, the energy it takes just to survive — it wears on you. There are days I feel deeply alone. I’ve watched people with homes live in filth — dishes piled up, cat piss everywhere, clutter — while I fight to keep order in a van with almost nothing. The contrast is striking.

What keeps me going is my faith and the small mercies. I’ve found that men, more than anyone, have been unexpectedly generous and helpful during this season. Complete strangers have offered kindness when I needed it most.

This journey has humbled me. It has shown me how fragile life is and how much we take for granted. It has also shown me my own resilience. Even with very little money, I’ve found ways to eat, stay clean, work on my cases, and keep moving forward.

I don’t know how long this season will last, but I know God sees every night I’ve slept in my van, every meal I’ve creatively cooked, every tear I’ve cried, and every boundary I’ve had to set to protect my spirit.

I’m still here. Still fighting. Still believing there is purpose even in this.