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In 1990 in Minneapolis, I was sober, housed, employed…

…and working the 12 steps with my sponsor, Ed. We’d been working the steps together for the past few months, and then came the long one, step five, where you read your list of resentments and moral failings to a priest or, in this case, a sponsor. I’ve heard of longer fifth steps but mine lasted over three hours. Three hours of talking and crying, finally telling someone the whole truth about who I was and what I’d done. When I finally finished, there was a long silence in the room. I wasn’t sure if Ed was even still awake. I was pretty sure he had dozed off earlier when I was talking about the worst of my actions. Maybe he was doing this to avoid embarrassment, his and mine. I didn’t know. He hadn’t looked up or murmured any acknowledgement for most of the three hours I had been talking. 

Sure enough, he had heard every word I’d said. In a short five-minute summary, he addressed everything I had told him, far more clearly and succinctly than I ever could. Ed, the cranky old computer scientist, then said something that, one day, would change my life: “Your deepest, darkest secrets will one day become the most powerful tools you have to help others.”

It took me 25 years to fully realize what those words meant, and only then because I had been changed enough by time and his direction to finally understand my place. If he was still alive he would laugh and say, “I didn’t change anything! You did all the work!” But that’s only half true. He loved me better than any other human had up to that point in my life. Not more dearly or deeply, I reserve those badges for my lovable but dysfunctional parents, but better—without judgment, without reserve. There’s no way I could have gotten to the heart of who I was deep down inside without him.

My deep, dark secrets? I’d been a thief, a hustler, a liar, and, worse than all of that, I had been homeless.

I had never told anyone outside of a small group of friends and associates that I had been homeless. I was convinced, and still am, that if I’d told the truth to prospective employers they would never have allowed me to grow as quickly as I did and take on the responsibilities I did. In keeping with another bit of advice from Ed, I took to heart the idea that I had been homeless but that it no longer defined or limited who I was today or what I could become tomorrow. Heeding that advice, I experienced the full restorative power of recovery in AA fairly quickly and easily, and then, over the next few years, moved between several jobs, had a few different careers, and even relocated to Los Angeles, taking the jobs I was offered and learning along the way (Ed often told me I didn’t need a career, I needed a job.) Those jobs included, in no real order: facilities director, operations director, barista, director’s assistant, producer’s assistant, executive assistant, event planner, technical coordinator, business owner, writer and then, in 2014, Uber driver.

2014 was when my partner took a job in San Francisco and we shut down our little company in LA. Once landed in SF, I drifted a bit, not quite knowing what to do with my life. I’d been told driving Uber was a great way to get to know our new city and then, one morning, I saw a job posting that would set me on the path I’m still on today. 

In that posting was a quote by Doniece Sandoval, the storied founder of the game-changing nonprofit Lava Mae, which said something to the effect of, “It’s not just the shower, it’s the dignity that goes along with it.”

That word, dignity, hit me deep. It had been the hardest thing for me to regain after my time being unhoused. The shame of those few months had followed me for years.

I read her words out loud to my partner who was one of the few people outside of the recovery world who knew my story, and he said, “Write to her now.” 

I sat up in bed, put down my cup of coffee, and started typing.

We met the next day and she told me the position had been filled but asked if I would be interested in a place on the Board of Directors. Me? Run-of-the-mill hopeless alcoholic? I explained I was just an Uber driver (and not wealthy and with no connections in SF), but she said I had one thing no one else on the Board did: lived experience. I accepted her offer with deep gratitude and humility and held that position for a year before I transitioned to my role as Director of Operations where I led the scaling of Lava Mae’s services.

Doniece was a pioneer in the world of services for the unhoused. The traditional service model was (and still is, mostly) for people living on the streets to visit “brick and mortar” service centers to get the help they needed. Lava Mae brought one of those services, hygiene (showers and bathrooms), to the streets where our guests lived. At that time, there were only seven public showers available to the over 7,000 people living on the streets in San Francisco. If you wanted a hot shower, you had to walk to a building downtown, next to police headquarters, carrying everything you owned.

Then Doniece turned the existing paradigm on its head.

It might seem commonplace now, but in 2014 it shook the non-profit world. The idea of taking these services, normally delivered indoors, out to the streets seemed crazy, even dangerous. Doniece faced down every person who told her “no,” “it won’t work,” and “we won’t fund it” and she kept talking, learning, and moving forward. When she found four old MTA buses for sale for $1 each she brought in a team of designers and fabricators to bring her idea to life. Fitting ADA-accessible showers and toilets, along with all of the plumbing to manage grey and black water, cost about $75,000 per bus but, when those beautiful blue buses dressed in water drops hit the streets, they changed homeless services forever. They were outposts of hope and dignity in the underserved parts of San Francisco. The story of Lava Mae is legend and even today inspires people around the world. 

That experience lit a fire in me that is still burning as bright as ever. And the time has come for me to now light that fire in others. If I’ve learned anything in my years working for organizations that provide services, I know that ending homelessness won’t happen from inside an office building, it will happen on the streets, and we all need to be there, on the streets, to welcome unhoused people back into society. We need to let them know that they have a place, that they are loved, and that their lives have potential they can’t even imagine yet. I’ve seen people recover from homelessness and live amazing, fulfilling lives. I know it can happen because it happened to me.

This is what I know: working together, we can end homelessness, now and for good. We are the only ones who can bring dignity and hope back into the lives of our unhoused neighbors. The love that passes through us to them is the only thing powerful enough to truly change their lives (and our lives, too). 

Sounds pretty amazing, right?

I think so. If you think so, too, then I invite you to join us by signing up below for blog updates, interviews with people who have recovered from homelessness, organizations providing services with that little extra that makes them “radical” and our monthly newsletter with highlights from our readers, items in the news and opportunities for you to get involved in your community.

Ending homelessness is going to be amazing, join us.