Caregiving, Christmas, and Losing My Home

I never imagined that one day I’d be typing the words I’m homeless into a blog post. Not after years of caregiving.
Not after doing “everything right.”

Not after sacrificing my own life to take care of someone else.But here I am.And before anyone jumps to conclusions—no, this isn’t because of drugs, laziness, bad choices, or “not trying hard enough.”T

his is what homelessness actually looks like for a lot of people… especially caregivers.

How I Got Here

For years, my life revolved around caring for my mom. Frontotemporal Dementia doesn’t ease in quietly—it bulldozes families, finances, routines, and futures.

I put my own needs on hold because that’s what caregivers do. You don’t clock out. You don’t get weekends. You don’t get a backup plan.

When caregiving ends or changes suddenly, there’s often nothing waiting on the other side. No safety net. No savings. No time to “figure it out.”

And when housing is tied to unstable family dynamics, power imbalances, or informal arrangements with no legal protection? One decision by someone else can wipe you out overnight.That’s how fast it happens.

The Part People Don’t See

Homelessness isn’t always sleeping on the street.Sometimes it looks like:

• Living out of bags
• Couch hopping
• Being told “you should’ve planned better” while you’re actively trying to survive
• Losing access to your own belongings
• Having your entire nervous system stuck in fight-or-flight

It’s paperwork. Court dates. Deadlines. Silence from agencies that are supposed to help. Being told you don’t qualify, or that you should have “already figured this out.”It’s exhausting in a way that sleep doesn’t fix.

The Emotional Toll No One Talks About

The hardest part isn’t the lack of housing—it’s the betrayal.The shock of realizing how disposable caregivers become once we’re no longer useful.

How quickly compassion disappears. How easily people rewrite your story so they don’t have to sit with their own discomfort.There’s grief layered on top of grief. Fear stacked on top of trauma.And a deep, quiet anger that comes from knowing you deserved better.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing it because homelessness doesn’t look the way people think it does—and caregivers are at high risk for it.

Especially adult children caregivers. Especially women. Especially people with health issues. If this can happen to me, it can happen to anyone who spends years putting themselves last.

And if you’re reading this while quietly panicking about your own situation, I want you to know: you’re not weak, broken, or failing. You’re navigating a system that was never built to protect caregivers.

I’m Still Standing

I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m grieving.
But I’m also still here.

I’m documenting everything. I’m advocating for myself. I’m rebuilding—slowly, imperfectly, and honestly.

And I refuse to be silent just to make others more comfortable. This isn’t the end of my story. It’s a chapter I never asked for—but one I won’t hide. It turns out that when the systems fail, community steps in. And if you’re part of mine—thank you.

How to Support Me Right Now

Sharing this story helps. So does kindness. And for those who’ve asked how they can help—support during this transition is deeply appreciated.•

• CashApp: $OurFTDJourney
• Venmo: @OurFTDJourney

No pressure. No obligation. Just gratitude. If you’re walking a similar path, you’re not alone.And if you’ve never had to think about homelessness before, I hope this opens your eyes.

Caregivers give everything. We shouldn’t have to lose our homes, too—and I’m trusting that telling the truth, even here, is part of finding my way forward.