On Running Away as an Adult
In January 2017, I packed my car and drove south without telling anyone. To some, it looked like I’d "chosen" homelessness. The truth? I was running to survive.
After years of family conflict, my mother threatened to call the police for a "wellness check"—a dangerous risk for someone living in their car, especially when staying with a friend targeted by law enforcement. I wasn’t just leaving a toxic home; I was fleeing potential harm. With $300 and no plan, I headed for the mountains of North Carolina, where I knew no one.
Homelessness Isn’t Always What You Think
I didn’t sleep on sidewalks very many times. I lived in my car—a mobile refuge I called my "car-partment." But "car living" isn’t a lifestyle choice when it’s your only option. I relied on public restrooms, free meal programs, and the kindness of strangers. I volunteered at kitchens like Kairos Center, where I found community among others facing similar struggles.
People said:
- "You’re not really homeless—you have a car."
- "You chose this."
But choosing between danger and instability isn’t a choice. It’s survival.
Rebuilding A Step At A Time
Asheville became my reset. I reconciled with my dad, who helped cover car repairs while I volunteered for food. I found work in kitchens, though chronic pain and PTSD made steady employment difficult. Slowly, I rebuilt—not just a home, but myself.
What I Want You to Know
1. Homelessness isn’t a monolith. It’s cars, couches, tents, and shelters. It’s invisible.
2. "Choice" is a privilege. No one chooses hunger or fear. They choose the least terrible option.
3. Kindness is lifeline. A meal, a safe parking spot, or just listening can change someone’s trajectory.
Where I Am Now
Today, I’m stable—but I haven’t forgotten. My project, Heartwarmers, is the resource I needed back then: a guide for those facing impossible choices.
To anyone in that place now: You’re not alone. Your pain is valid. And leaving to save yourself isn’t abandonment—it’s courage.
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