My descent into homelessness felt as though it happened in the blink of an eye. It was as if one moment I was standing in a meadow next to my horses, stroking their manes, and the next I was lying inside a plastic garbage bag on a park bench, wrapping clothes around my shivering body.
In fact, it happened over the course of 12 devastating months from 2013 to 2014. The house I was renting in Oregon burned down. My mother died of a cancer that, until a short time earlier, no one knew she had. My family fell into a bitter dispute over her inheritance and ostracized me. My beagle died. I was emotionally burdened to the point of being unable to run the business I had owned for nearly a decade, let alone pay my rent. Eventually, I was told to pack my bags and leave the new place I had rented after the fire.
My journey into homelessness was traumatic, but it was also incredibly expensive, and that’s what I want to focus on here. By the time I walked away from that park bench two years later, I had accrued more than $54,000 in debt.
Leaving homelessness did not mean immediate freedom. Instead, coming back to the world of the housed meant first having to navigate an obstacle course of fees and fines that I had incurred while homeless. In the process, I learned that the most traumatized and vulnerable members of our society are often burdened with bills that they have no idea how to handle, making finding secure housing that much harder.
These bills are another way that American...
Read Full Story: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/29/opinion/debt-homelessness.html
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