Condensed soup

 

I truly believe that being homeless began for me at birth. I was taken from the hospital to a broken home. My father left after I was four days old, which left me to be raised by an alcoholic mother.

I spent time as a child off and on living with other relatives. I'm not sure if it was because I was an unruly child, or if it was the alcohol that altered my mother’s ability to raise me properly.

I may have always had a roof over my head at a young age, but did I really ever have a home? I don't think there was ever a place where I felt truly loved, accepted, wanted, a place where I belonged. I began struggling as a child, trying to fit in and be accepted.

The best part of my childhood was spent with my grandparents. I would go to church, Sunday school, and even Bible study with my grandma. I really did enjoy going to church. There, I felt accepted and loved. A lot of my character values come from what I learned in church.

When I was eight years old, I was molested by our babysitter. It happened two weekends in a row. I was hospitalized because of the trauma it caused. Even though there was medical and physical evidence of the assault, charges were never filed. The assault did convince my grandmother to contact my real father. She reached out to him to come take me away to try to save me. He did show up at the hospital while I was there, but left alone.

Now that I look back, it was at this point that I was removed from my own temple. I had learned in church that your body is a holy temple that shall be filled with the love of the Holy Spirit. A temple is a dwelling, a place to live, a place where you're supposed to feel safe and secure. That was taken from me at age eight. Now, I'm unable to find safety and security within myself. I live in darkness, shame, guilt, and embarrassment.

At age seventeen is when I began to become street homeless. It didn't really seem like a big deal to me because I hadn't felt like I ever had a home anyway. Actually, being homeless made me feel safe. I could find a nice, quiet, secluded location where I knew nobody would find me or hurt me.

As I spent years off and on being homeless, I was always looking for ways to become successful. I was living homeless while holding full-time jobs. I was looking to find some sort of happiness, trying to find ways to fill the dark, empty voids that were stripped from me as a child.

If jobs did not work out, or in some instances, if the company I worked for would shut its doors, I would always return to the safety and serenity of the river. I would lay there and think of my next career move.

It was May of 2019 when I was lying on the riverbank trying to decide what to do. I was thinking maybe being a marriage counselor would be good for me. I've never been married, but I've seen what does not work. I know I am good at talking to people about issues, even though I hide mine extremely well.

As I lay there tossing around silly career ideas, I saw other homeless individuals. I noticed that some of them were struggling to make it through the fields, not sure if it was because they were altered or just plain worn out. It's not my job to judge people anyway, I told myself, and I felt selfish, "Let's go try to be accepted for once."

As I went around introducing myself to the other homeless, just hoping they would accept me for who I am, it didn't take very long to be accepted. It felt good. As I went around from camp to camp visiting, talking, and listening, I started taking mental notes. There were a lot of needs that needed to be addressed, whether it was food, clothing, hygiene, or bus tickets to make it to the doctor.

I felt more and more welcome within the homeless community. At this point, I am not only feeling accepted; I feel as if they trust me.

I started going around to all of the local agencies and introducing myself as well. I started learning where, when, and how to get certain things. Some of the agencies were puzzled by me. I would let them know that I was homeless, but I was seeking help for others. It didn't take long before the C.O.C. was asking at their meetings, "Who is this Tracy guy?"

I would return to the camps with the things they needed. The more I learned from the agencies, the more that I would bring back to the camps, the more my homeless friends started to believe in me.

The agencies also started getting used to me appearing. There were a couple of social workers who took me under their wing. They truly admired what I was doing. I started to learn everything. I started to get invited to meetings. In one of my first meetings, I was challenged by the CEO of an agency to keep my snowball growing, to not stop what I was doing. They saw something they liked in me.

As I traveled between the agencies and the river where most of my homeless family was, I would hear that someone wanted me at this particular camp. I would not hesitate to show up when someone was in need. Now I have this incredible feeling of being wanted.

I started working very hard for the homeless. I started to voice concern about the way some were being treated. I started to fight fearlessly for us. I would do newscasts, interviews for the newspaper, speak at City Hall.

I was still homeless on the river when I used knowledge gained from agencies to house my very first person. I would walk with, I would never push or pull members of my homeless family to agencies I felt best suited their needs.

It is around this point that I am told, "Tracy, your homeless family really needs you."

From the selfish act of looking to be accepted, my homeless family has given me way more. Not only have they accepted me, but they believe in me, they trust me, they want me, they need me, and I feel loved by them. They have given me purpose, happiness, pride, and joy—some of the things I've been searching for my entire life.

In December of 2019, even though I was still homeless, I was picked up by an agency. I started as an intake at the cold weather shelter, which quickly grew into me becoming a Street Outreach Case Worker. I sat on the Mayor's Blue Ribbon Advisory Committee for Homelessness. I was selected as a success story, potentially a representative or spokesperson for the successful recovery of homeless veterans. I was an assistant supervisor to a program that allowed homeless individuals to work one day a week to beautify our community. I was invited to stand behind the ribbon at our city's Food Kitchen grand opening ceremony as a representative for our homeless.

I have been told by seasoned case workers within the agencies that I am the best at what I do. I've even been told that they believe I can come up with a recipe to help reduce the number of homeless.

I have found my calling, and I am not going anywhere. If I'm in Saint Joseph or in another community, my homeless family will always have a voice.

I have a lifelong experience being homeless. Being homeless to me does not start from not having shingles over your head. It starts when your soul is damaged. It starts when the things that you're supposed to fill your temple with are absent. Abuse, molestation, neglect, the absence of people that are supposed to love you are huge contributors to someone becoming homeless. When I see someone who is street homeless, I don't see a lazy, drunk, scary person who chose to live this way. I see me—a broken, deeply scared, hurt soul, someone who desperately needs us.

When we become street homeless, I feel that we do it for two reasons: you're hiding in plain sight, but also screaming for help. Being street homeless makes you feel embarrassed, guilty, and ashamed. Society has made it basically a crime to be homeless. That's what makes you feel safe; chances are no one is going to approach you. But at the same time, you are praying that someone will find you.