By Angel Marie Parker

If you asked me and my siblings that I grew up with where we live/are from, it is likely you’d get different answers from each of us. Though metro Detroit has always been my “home,” my name is registered or affiliated with addresses in Detroit, Southfield, Farmington, Canton, Warren, and potentially others I’m forgetting. Some of these addresses are places I’ve never even spent a night. Others, I consider a piece of home. I once was denied a job opportunity in college because I couldn’t readily identify every address I’ve ever been affiliated with for a background check. The reason for this is housing instability. 

Most people who know me have no idea I have experienced homelessness. Only a month ago, I spoke to my mother for the first time about how much it affected me. “Where exactly are you from?” was always a question that filled me with shame, embarrassment, and anxiety. Not until adulthood did I ever reflect on why. Moving into my dorm as a freshman at NYU was the first time I slept in a real bed in over a year. Sophomore year, I slept in a separate bedroom for the first time in years. 

Like many Midwestern families, my family lost our home around the 2008 financial crisis. We split up, and from then on, we experienced many housing transitions collectively and individually for years to come. We used other people’s addresses for school. We’ve slept on mattresses, floors, and couches. At one point, I didn’t live with my mom, my twin sister, nor my brother. 

Switching from dorm to dorm throughout college didn’t bring me much stability. My senior year of college, I moved into an apartment, and two days before we were meant to renew our lease, one of my roommates backed out. Suddenly, I was threatened by homelessness again. Our landlord threatened to evict us if we couldn’t find a suitable replacement, and from then on my stability in that apartment felt tenuous. Words cannot describe the fear, anxiety, devastation, and shame I felt being rushed with memories of trauma. It was the first time I realized exactly how much homelessness affected me. For the next 2 years, I made it my life’s mission to move out of that apartment that reminded me of homelessness and instability. Many of my friends know that I wanted to move, but not many people knew the trauma that was motivating me.

In March of this year, I moved into my first real apartment with the love of my life. No guarantor, no money from loans or parents. We got the apartment on our own, and it’s ours. I’m embarrassed to say this because it feels dramatic, but on the first night I spent in my new apartment, I cried myself to sleep because I was so happy. For the first time since middle school, I felt stable and at peace. At least for the next 12 months, I know that I have a house, I have a bed, and I don’t have to be separated from the people I love.