Some stories are too big to tell all at once.

When I sat down to write this story, I thought it would be one blog post. Twenty thousand words later, it was clear it needed more room to breathe. Rather than asking you to read it all in one sitting, I've broken it into three parts.

This first post tells the story of how I went from finally earning my college degree to experiencing homelessness. It wasn't the life I imagined after graduation, but it's the story I lived.

Chapter One: Building the Life I Thought Would Last

The Finish Line That Wasn't

On both May 3 and 4, 2025, I got to participate in commencement for the Class of 2025 at Michigan State University.

Like most people, I have the photos.

The cap and gown photos. The family photos. The photos from celebrating afterward.

I shared a few of them on Facebook and LinkedIn. I posted about completing commencement, celebrated finishing my Bailey Scholars ceremony, and later even shared a blog post called A Promise Kept: Finally Finishing My Degree.

Then, back to class I went. I still had 5 summer classes left to complete before I could officially earn my degree. 

Participating in the ceremonies was good and all. I mean, after everything that had happened over the years, I honestly never thought I'd get another chance to do commencement when I actually finished school. My degree program changing when I returned to Michigan State was what unexpectedly made it possible.

And, even though I was registered late for graduation (because they didn’t have me properly marked in the system), I was excited to be there!

But I still had work to do.

A few days later, on the 12th, I was back to assignments, discussion posts, deadlines, and checking D2L more often than I cared to admit. I was already focused on making sure I crossed the finish line for sure this time.

I was 34 years old and finishing something I had started at 17.

By then, my college journey had stretched across multiple chapters of my life. Different jobs. Different apartments. Different friendships. Different versions of myself. There were years when I thought I'd never go back to school and finish my program. Years when I tried to convince myself I was okay with that. Mostly, years when I avoided thinking about it altogether.

Then there were the years when I decided to try again.

So, yes, doing commencement felt hella good.

BUT…

Getting that degree completion confirmation email from the Office of the Registrar on August 23, 2025, after summer was over, letting me know my degree had officially been awarded, hit way harder.

Then, six days later, I found an eviction notice taped to my apartment door.

The degree and the eviction notice are now permanently connected in my memory. One arrived after years of work, setbacks, and second chances. The other arrived when I thought I had finally made it through the hardest part.

This is the beginning of the story of everything that happened around those two moments and my experience of homelessness after graduation.

Building a Life That Finally Felt Like Mine

Before going back to school, and before the eviction notice taped to my apartment door, there was a period of time when I felt like my life was finally moving in the direction I'd always hoped it would.

Not perfectly.

Not effortlessly.

Just enough that I could see a future taking shape.

I had landed a job that felt like a major step forward in my career. It wasn't just another position or another paycheck. It felt like the kind of opportunity I'd been working toward for years. The kind of job that made me think maybe all the networking, freelancing, learning, and persistence had finally started paying off.

Rewriting My Financial Story

Around the same time, one of my clients helped me improve my credit through a barter arrangement. Instead of paying my full rates, some of the value of my services was exchanged for help understanding and repairing my credit.

That might not sound like a big deal to everyone, but it was to me.

For most of my life, having good credit felt like some unattainable benchmark that the adults in my life had no clue how to reach. Hell, long before I was old enough to understand what a credit score was, my credit history had already been affected by decisions that weren't my own. By adulthood, I had spent years cluelessly trying to recover from it while making more mistakes along the way.

With my client’s help, little by little, things started improving. For the first time in my life, my credit score was approaching 700. I still remember how significant that felt. Getting my credit score even close to 700 felt like proof that I wasn't stuck with the financial story I'd inherited.

Not long after that, I bought a car from a dealership for the first time, which was another big milestone for me that wasn't easily made.

My First Car From a Dealership

The decision started out as wanting to buy a car, the same way that I had done before, primarily looking for people selling cash cars. With the market for buying cars being as terrible then as it is now, I eventually reluctantly pivoted to looking at different dealerships for suitable car options.

Not many people in my family (as far as I knew) had bought a car off the lot; we primarily looked for cash cars. My dad was the only person top of mind who had bought cars from dealerships before, but even then, nobody was gonna be holding my hand and walking me through the process step by step. 

The process was hard and emotional. I had just reached this point where I was starting to see the life I wanted was within arm's reach. For the first time ever, I had good credit, the job of my dreams, and the income to help me get the rest of the way.

I didn't just want to buy a car because I had money now; I needed a car to keep everything going.

I am already someone who has struggled with timeliness for as long as I can remember (I was taught real well how to be late), so living about an hour bus ride away from my job and having to be there first thing in the morning each day was going to be an obvious struggle. When I got the job, one of my priorities was to improve my relationship with time. So that I didn't risk losing my job over being late (been there, done that), the best solution was to get more reliable transportation.

Buying a cash car was the lesser risk, but looking at dealerships meant I would have to get a car note of some kind, and that made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to do too much too soon and fumble everything. On top of that, I had no idea how to get a car any other way than cash. Also, having a car note kinda low-key seemed frowned upon in a way because it wasn't an easy or wanted expense to willingly sign up for.

When it came to my search, I was able to ask my dad some questions along the way, though anyone who knows my dad understands that getting a direct answer can sometimes feel like it's its own special skill. Eventually, I figured out what I needed to know, signed the paperwork, and drove away in a car that was (mostly) mine, a 2018 Ford EcoSport Titanium.

The Apartment I'd Dreamed About for Years

A few months later, I decided to move from my cheaper studio apartment in East Lansing (close to campus) into a "luxury apartment building" in downtown Lansing, The Arbaugh.

If you're familiar with Lansing, you probably know the building.

Part of the decision was practical. In an effort to make sure I got to work on time (because I started out struggling coming from working overnights), my next focus after having a car to make the 15ish minute commute to work, since my lease was ending, was finding somewhere close enough to move to so that I could remove as many obstacles as possible.

I can remember years earlier, I had visited someone's house for a kickback to watch the parades that used to go through downtown, and fell in love with the idea of living in The Arbaugh then, but it only felt like a dream. At the time, it felt like the kind of place I'd admire when visiting but never really imagine I'd be able to afford myself. Like one of those places people lived when they had their shit together, and I was not even close to there.

Even though it only felt like a dream, I knew I wanted to live there one day if I could. Living there would mean that I was finally on the path I wanted to be on if I could afford it. 

When I was on my apartment hunt, I looked at several options. As I was looking, there were a few listings for apartments at The Arbaugh that came up. When I saw them, I remembered my "dream thought" of wanting to live there, so I checked them out too. Walking in to view the available units, I knew that I wanted it all over again.

That time, I indulged my "dream".

I crunched the numbers of my income, including my car note, car insurance, and other expenses. I looked at how much more rent would be to get the apartment at The Arbaugh versus staying in the apartment I was in. Then I found out that the company that owned the building where I worked also owned The Arbaugh.

Once I realized living there was actually an option, I stopped looking at apartments the way I usually did. Instead of searching for the best and cheapest place I could get into quickly and without many hoops, I was looking at a place I'd admired for years that also happened to be four minutes from work.

It felt like the best possible combination of practicality and accomplishment.

I wasn't moving there because it was the most affordable option. I moved there because it felt like the opportunity to live somewhere I never thought I'd be able to live while also setting myself up for success.

The other reason was much simpler.

I wanted to live there, and I could finally afford it for myself.

After having been one of those places I admired from a distance, one day, it wasn't out of reach anymore. The Arbaugh was now the kind of place that I could have for myself.

The Future I Could Finally See

And once I actually got the apartment, I really felt accomplished.

The job.

The credit score.

The car.

The apartment.

Individually, none of those things made my life perfect. Together, they felt like evidence that years of effort were finally getting me somewhere.

For the first time in my adult life, I could see the outline of the future I had been working toward. Not a perfect life, just a stable one. The kind of life that had felt slightly out of reach for a very long time.

I thought I was finally settling into that version of my life.

The First Thing to Fall Apart

In June 2023, I decided to use some of my PTO to attend my family reunion, which was a first (I never took time off if I could help it). On top of already being anxious about taking off work, there was friction at work, and the day I left, everything was starting to peak. I definitely didn’t take my vacation feeling at ease in any way, but it was more than needed when it came.

While part of me was actually looking forward to getting away for a few days, another part of me had a feeling that something stressful was coming.

I didn't know what.

I just knew.

Although we usually end up travelling to another state, our reunion was held in Detroit that year. Like most of my family reunions, it involved a lot of relatives, some genuinely good moments, some stressful moments, and enough family drama to remind everyone exactly why we only gather like this once a year. In many ways, it was exactly what I expected.

When the reunion ended, I came back to Lansing half expecting to return to work and keep moving forward the way I normally would've.

Instead, I was fired.

I remember feeling anger and defeat.

Not because I thought everything was perfect, but because it definitely wasn’t the time to be losing my job (it never is). I knew we had friction, but I really didn’t expect it to go that way.

Trying to Hold On

After losing my job, I spent a lot of time replaying conversations in my head, thinking of things I could’ve or should’ve said or done, trying to make sense of what happened and what got me there. 

I had some ideas for sure, but mostly I ended up trying to push through it because I had bills to pay and very little money after taking a trip I had kind of dreaded taking in the first place, where I spent more money than I should.

For a while, anger about my situation and sheer will carried me forward.

Whenever I faced job loss in the past, I always assumed it was just a temporary setback. Anyone who knows me knows I can usually find a job. Somehow, though, those temporary setbacks always seemed to turn into much longer seasons than I expected.

This time was no different.

What started as a job loss eventually became two years of trying to hold on to the life I had worked so hard to build.

As usual, I believed I would find another job quickly. I have experience, skills, relationships, and a track record of figuring it out. At the same time, I was hoping to find something comparable to what I had lost instead of taking something quick and convenient for the money because I knew my worth.

So I did what I always do when life gets hard.

I started looking for solutions.

Grind Mode

I updated my resume, applied for jobs, reached out to people in my network, explored freelance opportunities, picked up part-time work, made deliveries, sold things, and asked for help through my teeth when it was available. I looked for opportunities anywhere I could find them.

The problem was that the job market was rough. The opportunities that came along often paid less, offered fewer benefits, or weren't enough to replace what I had lost.

Most of my energy went toward trying to keep everything from falling apart.

Looking back, that's what most of that period felt like. I wasn't building toward something new. I was trying to save the version of life I already had.

The apartment.

The car.

The credit.

The independence I had spent years working for.

Everything was at risk.

The Weight I Couldn't Put Down

It was exhausting. What I remember most is the constant stress. Stress about money, work, the future, and trying to solve one problem without accidentally creating another. There were stretches of time when it felt like all I did was solve problems. I'd figure one thing out, take a breath, and then something else would happen. Most days, it felt like I was spending more time surviving than actually living.

I also spent a lot of that period dealing with what felt like high-functioning depression. Not in a dramatic way that stopped the world. More in the way that it quietly sits beside you while you're trying to function.

I still went to work.

I still ran errands.

I still applied for jobs.

I still answered emails.

I still did what needed to be done.

But underneath all of it was a constant feeling that I was carrying more than I could hold.

I was tired of being strong, and I just wanted to give up. I wished somebody else would swoop in to carry the weight for a while. Instead, I kept looking for the next solution because I had no other choice.

During that time, I realized something about myself that I ended up saying over and over again:

"I'm strong against my will. I couldn't give up even if I tried."

It started as a joke, making light of some really big emotions, but the longer that season lasted, the more true it really felt.

Finding Small Reasons to Smile

Since I felt so down all the time, I also tried to create small moments of normalcy whenever I could.

One of those was karaoke.

Most Thursdays, I'd end up at a Karaoke Kickback event hosted by DJ Bigman Genesis from Power 96.5 FM. I didn't have money to do much, and most of the time it was a free night out.

Without spending a single cent, I could laugh, dance, sing badly, and see familiar faces. For a few hours, I wasn't thinking about bills, job applications, or whatever crisis might be waiting for me the next morning. 

Most importantly, I was one thing that helped me remember there was still a version of me that existed outside of survival mode, and my problems weren't the only thing happening in my life.

A Door I Never Expected to Reopen

Somewhere in the middle of trying to survive, AmeriCorps VISTA entered the picture.

I originally saw it as an opportunity to get back on my feet professionally, but accepting the position was a difficult decision. 

I knew the position would at least give me consistency, flexibility, resources, and even some benefits for my year of service. The biggest hurdle was that the living allowance was based on the poverty level, and I knew it wasn't gonna be enough to cover my full amount of rent, not to mention I had other bills to pay throughout the month. 

The fact that there was an Education Award part of the package was also a useful benefit, but I definitely wasn't thinking much about school at the time. Hell, I wasn’t even one hundred percent sure that I’d be able to make it through the year knowing that it wouldn’t be paying enough. The award was one of those things I'd deal with later, if later ever came.

Deciding to take the position obviously didn't meet my financial needs entirely, but it gave me something to work with. I had a different path to try while I continued grinding to keep my life together.

The position gave me work, introduced me to new people, expanded my network, and made me feel like I was moving in a positive direction again after spending so much time feeling stuck.

Realizing the Possibilities

When I completed my service and received the Education Award, something shifted.

Not because I suddenly decided to go back to school.

Because for the first time, going back was actually an option I could think about.

Up until then, finishing my degree had mostly existed as one of those dreams that lived in the background. Something I'd think about every now and then before real life demanded my attention again.

Even after the award came through, I didn't immediately start making plans.

Part of me needed to know it was real first. I've spent enough of my life waiting for things to fall apart that I didn't want to build a plan around something I didn't actually have yet. Once I received the award letter, I knew the opportunity was real, and I started exploring what returning to Michigan State might look like.

That's how going back to school found its way back into my life.

I shared more about what led me back, why finishing mattered so much to me, and what I hoped that decision would mean for my future in Delayed, Not Denied: Returning to College.

After all those years, I was finally working toward the finish line again.

The Email I'd Waited Seventeen Years For

By the time commencement weekend arrived, I had been working toward that degree for seventeen years.

Not continuously, of course.

There were years when I was enrolled, years when I wasn't, years when I thought I was almost finished, and years when I was convinced I probably never would be. By 2025, the degree had followed me through so many different chapters of my life that it almost felt strange to imagine a version of myself that didn't have "finish school" somewhere on the to-do list.

Walking across the stage in May felt good.

My family came. We took pictures. We celebrated. For a couple of days, I got to experience the version of graduation I'd imagined years earlier when I first arrived at Michigan State as a seventeen-year-old freshman.

The difference was that this time I planned to finish the work I had left to do.

When commencement ended, I promptly turned the celebration mode off and went right back into student mode.

My summer courses started on May 12, 8 days after commencement ended. I had five classes to complete. Two of them ended in June. The rest continued through August. So while people were congratulating me on graduating, I was still turning in assignments, checking grades, and trying not to get ahead of myself so I actually could graduate.

This degree had already taught me not to assume anything until it was finished.

The summer felt longer because I was waiting.

Waiting for assignments to end.

Waiting for grades to post.

Waiting to find out whether I had finally done enough.

When the semester ended on August 15, all I could really do was wait for confirmation.

Eight days later, on August 23, 2025, I received an email from the Office of the Registrar letting me know my degree had officially been awarded.

I remember staring at the screen for a minute.

Then reading it again.

Opening it one more time just to make sure it still said what I thought it said.

And even screaming out loud.

Seventeen years after graduating from high school, I finally completed the degree I started as a teenager.

Not almost done.

Not one class away.

Done.

It was Delayed, Not Denied!

That was the moment that felt real. The commencement ceremonies had been meaningful, but this was the moment I had been chasing. I let myself sit with that feeling for a while.

The relief.

The pride.

The disbelief.

The simple satisfaction of knowing I had kept a promise to myself.

Chapter Two: Losing Home

The Eviction Notice

Six days after receiving the email confirming my degree had officially been awarded, I woke up and started what I expected to be a normal morning. One of the first things I usually did each day was take Bandit outside. As I opened my apartment door, I immediately noticed several white papers taped to it.

My heart dropped.

I didn't know exactly what they were yet, but I knew they couldn't be good. I pulled them off the door, stepped back inside, and started reading. It was an eviction notice.

Not a notice for a court date.

Not a warning.

An order stating that I needed to be "out of the apartment by September 1 at 5:00 PM or be removed by order of the court".

I remember feeling defeated almost immediately.

Then confused.

Then angry.

I had so many questions, and none of the paperwork answered the one I wanted answered most.

How did this happen?

As far as I knew, the amount connected to the previous notice had already been paid. I didn't even know there had been a court hearing. Later, I learned that the hearing had taken place on August 13 and that the order had been signed on August 27. At the time, though, all I knew was that I was standing in my apartment holding papers that said I was about to lose my home.

After taking Bandit outside, I came back upstairs and started trying to figure out what had happened and whether there was any way to stop it.

My mom rented me a U-Haul on August 31 and started trying to figure out how I was going to move my entire life in a matter of days. Unfortunately, the timing wasn't exactly on my side. Between September 1st being Labor Day, the building's elevator being out of service (again), and the fact that I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there, I didn't get anywhere with packing and moving. Eventually, I had to return the truck and regroup.

Because Monday was Labor Day, the office didn't open back up until Tuesday morning. When I spoke with the leasing manager, I explained my situation and asked what I needed to do to keep the apartment. She told me I had until 6:00 PM on Thursday to bring in the money.

The problem was that I wasn't going to have it until Friday morning. I remember trying to explain that. I wasn't asking for weeks. I wasn't asking for months. I was asking for less than a day. It didn't matter. The deadline wasn't moving. Up until that conversation, I think part of me still believed there was a way to fix it. Once I hung up, that feeling started to disappear.

I still tried.

I kept looking for solutions.

I kept trying to find the money.

I kept hoping something would change.

But for the first time, I started preparing myself for the possibility that I was actually going to lose the apartment.

That realization sat heavily with me.

The Arbaugh wasn't just where I lived for the past 3 years. It represented so many things I had worked hard for. It was the apartment I never thought I'd be able to afford. It was four minutes from the job I thought would change my life. It was part of a version of life I wasn't sure I'd ever reach, but spent my adulthood trying to build.

Now I was trying to figure out how to leave it.

Thursday, September 4th, came, and the 5:00 PM deadline went by. That evening, I rented a second U-Haul. Once I got the money on Friday morning, I brought it to them anyway. By then, it was too late. They wouldn't take it. Then gears had shifted from how to keep the apartment to how quickly I could get out before the sheriff arrived. At that point, there wasn't much left to do except pack.

Or at least, that was the plan.

The sheriff was coming, and I still didn't know where I was going.

Either way, I still had to pack.

I spent hours packing.

Boxes.

Bins.

Clothes.

Electronics.

Paperwork.

Anything that felt important.

Anything that might be useful later.

Anything that might be worth selling if I needed money.

At some point during all of this, one of the neighbors from across the hall noticed what was happening. We had lived across from each other for a while, but I don't remember us ever really talking. He was one of those people you recognize from passing in the hallway but don't actually know. What I did know was that he always seemed well put together and somehow always smelled amazing.

One of his guests offered to help first, and before long, both of them were helping me move things downstairs and into the truck. I was grateful. I still am. When you're trying to move your life under that kind of pressure, any help matters. By the time they finished helping, they were exhausted, and honestly, so was I.

Later, when I looked inside the truck, I realized the loading job was a little more enthusiastic than strategic. Things had been packed quickly, which made sense given the circumstances, but it also meant I eventually needed another friend to help me reorganize everything so I could fit more into the space I had.

At that point, every inch, box, and decision mattered.

The next morning, the sheriff arrived.

Up until then, I'd still been trying to pack. I remember looking around the apartment and realizing I wasn't going to get everything out.

That was probably the hardest part.

Not loading the truck.

Not carrying boxes.

Not even seeing the sheriff standing there.

It was realizing I couldn't take everything with me.

I was standing in the middle of it, deciding what I could save and what I had to leave behind. There simply wasn't enough time, enough space, or enough help. So I started making different decisions. Instead of taking everything, I started taking what mattered most.

The things I couldn't easily replace.

The things that held value.

The things that might've helped me get through whatever came next.

The apartment was a mess by then, and the truck was as full as it was going to get.

Boxes.

Loose items.

Half-finished piles.

Things I intended to pack but never got to.

Things I thought I'd have time to come back for.

Things I eventually had to leave behind.

The apartment wasn't empty.

But I was out of time.

So I left.

One Problem at a Time

Once I was out of the apartment, there wasn't much time to sit around feeling sorry for myself.

I needed a plan.

More accurately, I needed several plans.

I needed somewhere to store my stuff.

I needed somewhere to sleep.

I needed transportation.

And I needed to figure it all out at the same time.

After leaving my apartment, I stayed with a friend for the weekend. I was grateful to have somewhere to go, but I knew it wasn't a long-term solution. While I was there, I rented a storage unit and moved my stuff into it. At least that temporarily solved one problem.

The rest of them were still waiting.

One of the biggest concerns was transportation.

By that point, I had already started looking for another vehicle. Since the leasing office wouldn't take my money, I decided that I'd throw the money I had for rent on a car (at least I could sleep in it and get around, worst case).

Like several of the cars I'd owned before, this search also started with a Facebook Marketplace listing, where I came across a listing for a 2008 Dodge Caliber for $2,500. I first contacted the seller on September 3. We exchanged messages back and forth while I was trying to navigate everything else that was happening. Amongst it all, after the leasing office denied taking my money and renting the second U-Haul, I also managed to test drive the car.

Looking back, that entire week feels ridiculous. I was trying to prevent an eviction. Move out of an apartment. Figure out where I was going to live. And buy a car. All at the same time.

After leaving my friend's house, another friend who happened to be in town helped me cover a few nights in an Airbnb. I stayed there from September 7 through September 9 while waiting to hear from the mechanic.

The car wasn't perfect, but neither was my situation.

I wasn't looking for perfect.

I was looking for something reliable enough.

By the morning of September 9, the car was ready.

I picked it up that day.

At the time, buying the car felt like a small victory. Transportation meant options. Transportation meant independence. Transportation meant one less problem to solve.

The Car Becomes Home

By the time I got my car, I also knew there was a good chance I'd be living in it.

That wasn't a surprise.

Losing the apartment had been the surprise.

The car was part of the solution.

I didn't have another apartment lined up, but I did have my stuff secured in a storage unit, a car, Bandit, and a rough plan.

A few weeks before I lost my apartment, I was accepted into LEAP's One & All program, an entrepreneurship accelerator that helps people start or grow a small business in Lansing. At the time, I saw it as an opportunity to continue building toward the future I wanted. By September, it had become something else entirely, a lifeline.

The plan was to finish LEAP and then go stay with my grandmother in Georgia. What I didn't know was how I was going to get from September to October to complete the program. LEAP was the biggest reason that I stayed in Michigan. Without it, I probably would have gone to my grandmother's house much sooner. Instead, I had a reason to stay. Something that required me to keep showing up.

That's one of the things I appreciate most when I look back on that period. LEAP never treated me like someone who needed to be rescued. It treated me like an entrepreneur with an idea worth developing. For a few hours at a time, I could focus on something other than survival. I could think about possibilities, work on my business, and have conversations about the future instead of constantly worrying about the present.

Having to do that while living out of my car wasn't the plan I wanted, but it was the safest option available to me if nothing changed. And that "if" carried a lot of weight. Part of me was still hoping something would happen before moving to Georgia was my only option. A job. An opportunity. Some unexpected solution that would allow me to stay in Michigan and keep building the life I'd spent so many years creating. I didn't know if that was realistic or not. I just knew I wasn't ready to let go of that possibility yet.

The night of getting the car, with nowhere else to go, Bandit and I slept in the parking lot of the Frandor Shopping Center (or at least we attempted to).

Frandor was the first place that came to mind that felt relatively safe. There were apartments nearby, a parking garage, a park, and a mostly empty parking lot that stayed well lit throughout the night.

In a strange way, the first night was easier than I expected. At least physically. The car ran. I had somewhere to park. Nobody bothered me. Nothing terrible happened. Mentally, though, it was a different story.

I was completely out of my element, so I was awake most of the night. Bandit was an anxious ball of nerves whenever he was awake (he's always hated being in the car).

The next day was harder. Bandit was anxious, unsettled, and barely wanted to eat. If there were rankings for dogs most likely to reject uncomfortable living situations, Bandit would probably place near the top.

To be fair, I felt the same.

We had both been displaced.

We were both uncomfortable.

And neither of us knew exactly what came next.

I didn't have some carefully researched plan for living in my car. I wasn't following advice from YouTube. I wasn't part of some community of people sharing tips and tricks. I was figuring it out as I went.

Everything about the situation felt unfamiliar. Every decision suddenly required more thought than it used to. Questions that had never crossed my mind before suddenly felt important.

Where can I park for free? Where do I go in the morning? Where do I charge things? Where do I spend my time during the day? What happens if something goes wrong? Who can I actually rely on?

Most people didn't know what was happening. A few close friends knew. The friend I had stayed with. The friends who had helped me financially. My closest friends. The people I thought might actually be kind of willing to help if things got worse. Everyone else saw whatever version of me I was still able to present to the world.

I continued showing up to LEAP.

I continued looking for work.

I continued trying to solve problems.

To be continued...

In the next post, I'll share what life was actually like after I lost my home, what Bandit and I learned while living in my car, and how we eventually made it to Georgia.