Life happens and sometimes it sucks

Life Happens... and Sometimes It Sucks

There’s a saying I’ve come to know all too well... most of us are only a few paychecks away from homelessness. It’s one of those things people nod at politely but don’t really believe until it happens to them, or to someone they love. I know, because it happened to me. I wasn’t lazy, I wasn’t addicted, I wasn’t irresponsible. I was working full-time, living a normal life, doing everything the world says you’re supposed to do... and then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, everything fell apart. And that’s the truth that too few people want to face... life happens, and sometimes it sucks.

Most people think homelessness looks a certain way... someone holding a sign, sleeping under a bridge, maybe struggling with addiction or mental illness. But the reality is far more complicated, and far more common. Homelessness isn’t always loud or visible. Sometimes, it’s quiet. It’s the woman showering at the gym before work, the man napping in his car at a rest stop, the family staying in a cheap motel for a few nights because they lost their apartment and have nowhere else to go. It’s people who are still showing up... to jobs, to schools, to church... while their lives are unraveling behind the scenes. The truth is, you don’t have to be reckless to end up without a home. You just have to be human.

Here’s how fast it can happen... A job loss. Companies downsize every day. Even just one week without income can mean choosing between rent and groceries for many. A health emergency. A broken bone, a surgery, a hospital stay... medical bills pile up, time off work goes unpaid, and suddenly you’re behind. An unexpected death or divorce. Losing a spouse, a parent, or a partner often means losing both emotional and financial stability. Rising rents and impossible housing costs. In many places, minimum wage doesn’t even come close to covering basic living expenses. No safety net. Not everyone has family who can take them in, and even when they do, those families are often struggling too. Homelessness is not just about bad choices... it’s about bad breaks in a system that gives no room to recover.

The hardest part isn’t losing your home... it’s losing your "place", your belonging, your sense of safety. I remember parking my car at night and praying I wouldn’t be noticed. I remember trying to look “normal” so no one would guess. I remember working all day, pretending everything was fine, then spending my nights in a back seat that was suddenly my entire world. You become invisible in a way that changes you. People stop seeing you as someone who belongs and start seeing you as a problem to move along. And when you finally ask for help, you learn a painful truth... the system is built to help certain kinds of people, and you might not be one of them. If you’re working but homeless, you’re often told you “don’t qualify.” If you’re single with no kids, you’re not a “priority.” If you don’t fit the right category, sit comfortably in one of society's boxes, or look the part of homelessness, you get turned away. And each “no” chips away at your hope until you start to believe you really don’t matter.

Homelessness rarely comes from one event... it’s a domino effect. You fall behind on rent, you get evicted, you lose your address, you can’t apply for new housing or jobs without one, you lose your ID, you can’t access benefits, and before long, you lose your footing completely. That’s how fast it happens. And climbing back out is even harder, because the systems meant to help are full of walls disguised as doors. Paperwork, waiting lists, and red tape make it nearly impossible to get back on track. This is why so many stay trapped... not because they don’t want to change, but because every path forward is blocked by one more “requirement.”

First, we have to stop pretending homelessness is a moral failure. It’s not. It’s an economic, social, and human crisis that can touch anyone. Second, we need more programs that focus on restoration, not just rescue. A one-night bed is good, but it’s not enough. People need time, stability, and compassion to rebuild. They need a safe place where they can take a breath, make a plan, and be treated with dignity. That’s why I’m creating A New Tomorrow... an outreach center built to be more than a shelter. A place where people can find long-term stability, learn new skills, heal from trauma, and rediscover their worth. A place for those who’ve been told “you’re not a priority.” Because if life can take everything from someone in an instant, then compassion and community should be there just as quickly to help them rebuild.

But it’s in those moments... when everything feels broken... that we have a choice. We can turn away, or we can reach out. The next time you see someone struggling, remember... it might not be a stranger’s story. It might be tomorrow’s version of your own. No one plans to be homeless. No one chooses despair. But together, we can choose to build a world where a bad break doesn’t mean a broken life. Because life happens... and sometimes it sucks... but with compassion, it doesn’t have to stay that way.