Surviving Homelessness from Pavement to Possibility
Surviving Homelessness from Pavement to Possibility
From Kirsten Woodard
I never thought I’d be here—asking for help like this. But here I am. And I’m doing this because surviving out here on my own is breaking me down in ways I didn’t expect. I’m doing this because I’m tired of pretendin...
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Update #1
Day-1– Sleeping Through Gunfire and Shrugged-Off Lives
Just 1 Night...
I’m curled up under this dirty old mattress outside—yeah, outside—because the only other option is open sky and no cover. The concrete is cold, the air’s colder, but not as cold as what came next.
Two cars creep by, music high, engines idling like something out of a movie. Then it starts—pop pop pop, rapid, deliberate. 9mm rounds crack through the silence like dry bones snapping. Then the deeper thud of .40 caliber. Showboating, they call it. I call it terror.
The bullets cut the air above me—I hear them whizz past, close enough to feel their hunger. I press my face into the dirt under the mattress, heart slamming in my chest, lungs frozen. I don’t know if this is it. I just know Im not going out on account of some idiots trying to be righteous.
Daylight comes like it always does. Calm after chaos. One cop shows up. One. He scans the area like he’s late for something better. I hand him eight shells I found—he shrugs, doesn’t even write a name down. No questions. No statement. Just a look like, “Well, you chose to be here.”
I didn’t choose this. I’m just surviving it. Dick!
And apparently, surviving doesn’t warrant paperwork.
More Info
Hi, my name is Kay and I'm currently fighting to survive homelessness.
This isn’t easy to share. Life took a sharp turn, and like so many others, I found myself without a roof, without stability, and without many of the basic things most people take for granted. I'm not asking for a handout—I’m asking for a hand up.
I’ve been doing everything I can to stay afloat—hustling, staying positive, leaning into hope—but the truth is, surviving on the streets is brutal. Every day is a battle to find shelter, stay safe, charge my phone, and keep my mind strong. I’ve made it this far, but I’m reaching out now because I know I can’t do this alone.
What I need help with:
Temporary housing or extended-stay lodging
Food and basic hygiene supplies
Transportation (bus passes, gas, car repairs if applicable)
A reliable phone plan to stay connected and apply for work
Application fees, resume support, job clothes, and interview prep
Mental clarity and support to rebuild a stable foundation
Why I'm doing this:
Because I still believe in myself. I still believe in community. I know that with a little support, I can transition out of survival mode and into rebuilding mode. I have goals, drive, and a vision—but I need help getting back to solid ground so I can make those things happen.
How you can help:
If you're able to donate, thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you can’t donate, a share can go a long way too. Even words of encouragement or resources are appreciated more than you know.
Homelessness doesn’t define me. This is just a chapter—not my whole story. With your help, I can start writing the next part—a better one.
Thank you for seeing me, for hearing me, and for helping me hold on to hope.
With gratitude,
Kay
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Kirsten Woodard posted a new update:
3 months agoUpdate #1
Day-1– Sleeping Through Gunfire and Shrugged-Off Lives
Just 1 Night...
I’m curled up under this dirty old mattress outside—yeah, outside—because the only other option is open sky and no cover. The concrete is cold, the air’s colder, but not as cold as what came next.
Two cars creep by, music high, engines idling like something out of a movie. Then it starts—pop pop pop, rapid, deliberate. 9mm rounds crack through the silence like dry bones snapping. Then the deeper thud of .40 caliber. Showboating, they call it. I call it terror.
The bullets cut the air above me—I hear them whizz past, close enough to feel their hunger. I press my face into the dirt under the mattress, heart slamming in my chest, lungs frozen. I don’t know if this is it. I just know Im not going out on account of some idiots trying to be righteous.
Daylight comes like it always does. Calm after chaos. One cop shows up. One. He scans the area like he’s late for something better. I hand him eight shells I found—he shrugs, doesn’t even write a name down. No questions. No statement. Just a look like, “Well, you chose to be here.”
I didn’t choose this. I’m just surviving it. Dick!
And apparently, surviving doesn’t warrant paperwork.
Join the Conversation
Sign in with your Facebook account or email.
All Updates
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May 25