They say I _chose_ to live in my car, the hostels, the nights scrubbing dishes for a spot on a couch. I did choose it. But that's not a reflection of me, it's a reflection of an impossible situation with whittling options. I was told I deserved every bad thing that happened because I "decided" to live in my car.

Humans will call anything a "choice" if it helps them sleep at night.

Choosing to leave a toxic or dangerous situation, even if it leads to homelessness, doesn't mean you made bad choices in that impossible situation. For many young people, especially those in the LGBT community facing rising rates of homelessness, leaving can be the only way to protect their well-being. If you find yourself in that situation, remember it's not your fault.

In _Life Is Beautiful_, a father convinces his son their concentration camp is a game—because pretending you have agency is the only way to endure the unendurable. That’s what I did. When I left Montgomery County—its sprawl, its suffocating surveillance, its pot-smoke haze of wasted years—I told myself I was _choosing_ freedom. Even as I slept in parking lots.

Was it a good decision? No. It was the only one left.

Growing up in Montgomery County was awful. It's all sprawl. It's expensive, over surveilled, and the entire time I was either addicted to video games or smoking pot. It wasn't until I was an adult that I met people who live in the county that share my values. As a kid, all I was exposed to is what my family chooses for me.

My life when I lived in Appalachia was much healthier. I could walk most places. I ate healthy and was surrounded by people I chose to surround myself with, that inspired me to be a better version of myself. While in Montgomery County, that type of connection was far and few between. Rush hour, which has been a thing every single day for my entire life, brings me this awful dread and existential anxiety.

This Isn’t About You

When I left my hometown, and created distance from my family of origin, my immediate situation was homelessness in a new state and city. This was a choice I made. My choices in the situation were not very good. The idea that someone would choose destitution or homelessness, is not a reflection of that person. It's a reflection of the situation.

What happened in my past is not a verdict on anyone. Stop thinking the world revolves around you like that. We made decisions every day that either will push people away, or draw people in. When I blame my mother for calling the police when she loses control of a situation, it's not that action that defines my life and story. It's a culminating breaking point after 99 other problems.

She could’ve been a safe place to land. Instead, she banned tears in front of my niece ("Be a _man_," she hissed, though the word never fit me) and later met my transition with disgust. So I left. Not because I didn’t love that child, but because love isn’t worth becoming a cautionary tale.

Here’s what people like her refuse to understand: You don’t have to be someone’s hero to help. Just don’t slam the door.

The Aftermath

For years, my father paid for therapy but not groceries, as if my hunger was a mindset to fix. Meanwhile, my niece grew up hearing that her uncle’s suffering was "self-inflicted."

But I know what they won’t admit: If "choice" means staying in a toxic home or starving with dignity, the problem isn’t the person who walks away.

It’s the world that made those the only options.