I never imagined I would have to write something like this.
A little over a week ago, my 4-year-old son and I became homeless.
For the past week, our “home” has been my car.
I have spent nights trying to make sure my little boy was comfortable and safe while I sat awake wondering where we would sleep the next night. He is only 4 years old and has airway disorders, including laryngomalacia and severe sleep apnea. He needs a safe, stable, clean place to sleep more than anything.
Our journey here has been anything but easy.
In 2024, I survived being strangled twice in one night by someone I trusted. My children witnessed the violence, and my oldest daughter had to intervene to help save me. After a long and painful legal process, my abuser was finally convicted earlier this year in March and sentenced to 12.5 years.
I thought surviving that would be the hardest thing I would ever have to do.
I was wrong.
After trying to rebuild my life, I eventually found myself back at my father's home with my 4-year-old. Instead of finding the safe place I desperately needed, I found myself living through emotional physical and verbal abuse again. There was constant yelling, instability, and conditions that were not healthy for my son. Eventually, I was told that we needed to leave.
So I packed what little we had and left with my son.
And somehow, through all of this, I have kept going.
I have been working with my caseworker and calling every resource I can find. We have exhausted resources within roughly a 70-mile radius. I have reached out to shelters, housing programs, domestic violence resources, churches, and community organizations. I have been told “no,” “full,” or “waitlisted” more times than I can count.
But I refuse to give up.
There is finally a small light ahead.
My son has a developmental screening this Wednesday, and I am praying that it will help him get placed in preschool soon. I currently have two job offers waiting for me once I can get him into school or daycare. I am ready to work. I am ready to provide for my son. I am ready to rebuild our lives.
I just need enough time to get there.
Yesterday, my son and I went to church. A woman I had been speaking with shared a little of our situation with others, and something happened that I honestly wasn't expecting.
People came together and helped us get a room at the Cabarrus Inn in Concord NC for one week.
Last night, my son and I slept in a real bed.
And I can't even put into words what that felt like.
After sleeping in my car for a week, laying my head down on a pillow and knowing my son was warm and safe felt like a miracle.
But our room is only paid through Sunday.
And I'm terrified that on Sunday, we'll be right back in my car.
So I'm asking for helpnot for a lifetime, not for someone to fix everything, and not because I want to stay dependent on anyone.
I just need a bridge.
A bridge from homelessness to employment.
A bridge from sleeping in my car to having a home.
A bridge that gives my son enough time to start preschool while I begin working and earning the income I need to secure permanent housing.
If you are able to help, even one additional night at the hotel would mean more to us than I can explain.
If you would rather help directly, you can call the Cabarrus Inn and add nights to our room. You don't have to give money directly to me. You can simply help purchase another night or two of safety for a little boy and his mama.
I am not asking for pity.
I am asking for a chance to catch my breath.
I am asking for a little time to get back on my feet.
I am asking people to believe that the woman who survived being strangled, survived abuse, survived losing her home, and spent a week sleeping in her car is still fighting.
Because I am.
And my son is worth every single fight.
If you can't donate, please share this. If you pray, please pray for us. If you can help with even one night at the hotel, please know that you are giving us more than a room.
You are giving a 4-year-old little boy a safe place to sleep while his mama fights to build them a home.
I don't know exactly what tomorrow holds.
But I know I'm not giving up.
And I pray that one day, when my son and I are sitting in our own home, I'll look back at this chapter and remember that strangers helped us survive the moment when we had almost nothing left.
Sometimes a miracle doesn't look like everything being fixed.
Sometimes it looks like one more night. ❤️
Thank you for reading.
