What Homelessness Taught Me

Content note

This post contains lived experiences of homelessness, housing instability, mental health distress, and exposure to violence. It is written from personal experience and focuses on survival, recovery, and rebuilding stability. Please read with care and take breaks if needed. Support is available. In Australia, Lifeline is available on 13 11 14.

Homelessness did not start on the street

My experience of homelessness did not begin with sleeping rough. It began much earlier, with constant movement, unstable housing, and never knowing how long a place would last. As a child, I moved continuously through Cairns, staying in houses, caravan parks, crisis accommodation, and wherever my mum could find space for us.

I learned early that nothing was permanent. Schools changed constantly. Friendships rarely lasted. Even when we had a roof, it never felt secure. Homelessness, for me, started as housing insecurity long before it became visible.

Being cut loose as a teenager

As a teenager, housing instability became more explicit. After moving between family members and unsafe environments, I was eventually told I could not live with my father anymore. I arrived back in Townsville with nowhere to go, no plan, and no safety net.

I stayed wherever I could. Friends’ houses. Temporary arrangements. Places where I was expected to work, clean, or pay my way just to stay. I missed school to survive. I learned quickly that stability could disappear overnight.

When my mental health deteriorated, I spent time in adolescent mental health care, then moved into a young women’s shelter. At the time, it felt like a step toward independence. Looking back, it was another chapter of homelessness, just under a different label.

Losing everything, again and again

Over the years, I lost everything I owned multiple times. Sometimes through threats or exploitation. Sometimes because I had to leave suddenly. Sometimes because there was nowhere safe to store my belongings.

I learned not to get attached to things. Everything important stayed in a bag that could be picked up quickly. Even when I had accommodation, I lived as though it could be taken away at any moment.

Housing arrangements often fell apart due to circumstances outside my control. Relationships broke down. Mental health crises intervened. Services were stretched or unavailable. Each time, I started again with less than before.

Sleeping rough and surviving day to day

There were periods where I slept rough, squatted in abandoned buildings, or stayed outdoors in parks and bushland. In Victoria, I experienced homelessness through winter, constantly moving to avoid being moved on.

At one point, a bushfire destroyed everything I owned, including my identification and items a loved one who isnt with us had given to me. Another time, donated belongings disappeared overnight. Each loss chipped away at any sense of security I had left.

Survival became the focus. Finding warmth. Finding food. Finding somewhere safe enough to sleep. The emotional toll of constant uncertainty was immense.

Kindness and cruelty at the same time

There were moments of genuine kindness from strangers. People who offered food, clothing, or a place to rest. Those moments mattered deeply.

At the same time, systems often felt cold and rigid. Asking for help could lead to judgement or punishment. Even visible homelessness did not guarantee support. Sometimes it only brought more scrutiny.

Homelessness is not just about lacking housing. It is about being constantly assessed, doubted, and managed by systems that rarely feel designed for people in crisis.

Returning to Cairns and finding scaffolding

Eventually, I returned to Cairns. I was exhausted, traumatised, and still without stable housing. I moved between women’s shelters, temporary accommodation, and couch surfing, often with long gaps where no options were available.

What changed was access to consistent support. Through NDIS supports, homelessness services, and hospital outreach teams, I finally had people helping me navigate housing applications, identification, income, and healthcare all at once.

Mission Australia, supported accommodation programs, and dedicated workers became the scaffolding that held my life together. For the first time, housing lasted longer than a few months.

Learning to trust stability

Even when I finally had stable accommodation, my body did not trust it. I kept emergency supplies. I lived out of a backpack. I avoided buying anything nice. I treated housing like a temporary stop rather than a home.

These behaviours were not irrational. They were survival responses built over years of instability. It took a long time to believe that I would not be moved on again.

With ongoing support, I slowly learned how to unpack, physically and emotionally.

What homelessness taught me

Homelessness taught me resilience, but it also taught me fear. It shaped how my nervous system responds to uncertainty. It taught me to be hypervigilant, adaptable, and resourceful.

It also showed me how much stability depends on layers of support, housing, income, healthcare, community, and people who do not give up when progress is slow.

Homelessness is not a personal failure. It is what happens when systems break down around people who are already vulnerable.

Where I am now

               Today, I am housed. I have income stability. I have support. I am no longer focused on surviving day to day.

The survival instincts are still there, but now they exist alongside plans, purpose, and connection. I use my lived experience to support others navigating homelessness and housing insecurity, because I know how hard it is to climb out once you fall through the gaps.

My homelessness journey did not have a single turning point. It was built slowly, through support, persistence, and people who believed I was worth helping.

Housing gave me the ground to stand on. Support helped me stay there.

And that has made all the difference.