I am not who you think I am

reflections on homelessness

The first time I ran away, I was twelve years old. You can read about that here.

Me, 11 years-old.

By the time I was sixteen, I had run away more than six times, often leaving home when fights with me, my mom, and my stepdad (who she married when I was thirteen) got particularly violent. I was sixteen when I decided to hitch-hike to California with a man in his late twenties, and I was sixteen when I got kidnapped in Northern California, escaping after several long days of strange captivity.

A few days ago, I wrote a Twitter thread about having been homeless. I want to write more about it here, but I am in the midst of writing two final papers for my PhD program.

I guess what I want to say is: I used to be homeless, and now I am getting my PhD. I have been spat on, slapped, kicked, and raped. Being homeless is an inherently vulnerable state. Homelessness compounds trauma a thousand times over— not just the experience of having no home, but the experience of other people’s hatred and in…